


Einherjar

by thecommodore_squid (orphan_account)



Series: To Seek Valhalla [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A Couple of Self-Sacrificing Noble Assholes, And Also True Love, Angst, Codependency, Cruel and unusual punishment, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Listen to King Kit-Kat, Fluff, Happy Ending, I WILL MAKE STEVE AND BUCKY HAVE HEALTHY RECOVERIES IF IT KILLS ME, Identity Issues, Listen I Love Tony Stark, M/M, Nat and Steve AKA Eternal BFFLS, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Self-Harm, Slow Burn Friendship With Sam and Bucky, Slow Burn More Like FREEZER BURN, Steve Rogers Is Not Okay, Steve Rogers is a Cynical Motherfucker, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 71,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7157024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thecommodore_squid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But Steve was fine.</p><p>Sure, he hadn’t seen Bucky in months, and sometimes he was at the punching bag so long that his skin started to peel off to expose the bones of his fingers, and sometimes he couldn’t find the energy to drag himself out of bed, and sometimes he went weeks without sleeping, and sometimes he thought about throwing himself head-first off the nearest tall structure, but he was fine.</p><p>He was absolutely, perfectly, one-hundred percent, <em>fucking fine</em>.</p><p>AKA<br/>In which Steve learns how to deal with his shit, and Bucky learns how to stop leaving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How To (Not) Cope With Certain Events, An Easy (Terrible) Guide By Steven G. Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> So, right after I saw Civil War, I was really upset/enraged by Steve's lack of character development in a movie where one of the most prevalent themes is dealing with grief. Naturally, I decided to write 70k+ about it, so here is this thing.
> 
> TITLE info for those of you interested in that sort of thing: "In Norse mythology, the einherjar are those who have died in battle and are brought to Valhalla by valkyries," where they then prepare for Ragnarök. That info is from Wikipedia but idk I couldn't find a better way to phrase it so do with that information what you will.
> 
> Everything here is canon compliant except Clint's farm family because literally every fiber of my being rejects MCU!Clint's characterization.
> 
> Also, please read the tags before you start reading! Steve is in a Very Bad Place™ for the majority of this fic!
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Comments and kudos keep me young and alive, sort of like unicorn blood.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> UPDATE: [russet-moon](http://russet-moon.tumblr.com) made this LOVELY [playlist](http://8tracks.com/fandomfeminist/better-isn-t-later-better-is-now) inspired by this fic! It's beautiful! You guys should check it out!

_“I think going back under is the best thing. For everyone.”_

 

And Steve had known immediately that “everyone” was a warning. That was Bucky telling him quite clearly that he was trying to fucking protect Steve from himself, like he always had, the noble asshole.

 

And Steve had so much respect for Bucky. He wasn’t gonna be like Hydra. He wasn’t gonna dictate or control Bucky’s life. Bucky had had enough of that for several lifetimes.

 

But that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

 

Everyone always fucking left.

 

T’Challa and the rest of his team dealt with him warily, like they weren’t sure whether or not he was gonna snap.

 

But Steve was fine.

 

Sure, he hadn’t seen Bucky in months, and sometimes he was at the punching bag so long that his skin started to peel off to expose the bones of his fingers, and sometimes he couldn’t find the energy to drag himself out of bed, and sometimes he went weeks without sleeping, and sometimes he thought about throwing himself head-first off the nearest tall structure, but he was fine.

 

He was absolutely, perfectly, one-hundred percent, _fucking fine_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you guys ever even, like, _talk_?” Sam asked out of the blue while Steve was running the treadmill hard enough to make the Wakandan trainer in the room glare at him with such force that Steve was distantly worried she would burn a hole into the back of his head.

 

Steve abruptly stopped and stared at Sam. “What do you mean?”

 

Sam looked uncomfortable. “Like. You and Bucky,” he said, making a weird gesture with his hands to signify something that Steve didn’t bother deciphering.

 

Steve furrowed his brows in confusion. “Um. You were there? While we talked?”

 

Sam scowled. “Dude, you know that’s not what I meant.”

 

Steve started up the treadmill again. “What is there to talk about?”

 

Sam sighed. “Oh, boy,” he muttered under his breath, but he blessedly dropped the conversation for now. Because Steve wasn’t his fucking _responsibility_ or anything.

 

Steve ran so hard that he almost passed out, which was a fact that he regarded with mild satisfaction, although every feeling felt kind of mild these days.

 

* * *

 

 

They hadn’t talked.

 

They’d looked at each other with wondering, knowing glances. They’d fallen back into battle like they were born to fight. They’d fought for each other like they were fighting for their own souls.

 

But they hadn’t talked.

 

On T’Challa’s plane to Wakanda, Steve had frantically patched Bucky’s wounds, and Bucky had scowled and tried to do the same for Steve with his one fucking arm, but they hadn’t talked. Steve had dropped his head onto Bucky’s shoulder and passed out, and he had woken up with a start and tear tracks on his face, and Bucky had reached over and smoothed some of the hair off his forehead, but they hadn’t talked.

 

What was there to talk about?

 

* * *

 

 

Steve stared at the door to the room Bucky was being held in.

 

He hadn’t actually gone inside the room since Bucky had been awake, so he hadn’t seen Bucky in nearly six months.

 

Steve couldn’t remember much of the past six months, and he wondered why that thought didn’t send him into a spiral of panic.

 

Steve wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but T’Challa eventually walked up and stood next to him. He was always so wary and careful around Steve, like he might break at any moment. Steve hated it.

 

T’Challa nodded at the door. “How often have you been in to see him?” he asked.

 

Steve swallowed. “I haven’t.”

 

They were quiet for a minute. Until T’Challa said, “I sit with him sometimes.” It sounded like a confession. “It feels right to keep him company. I sometimes wonder if my father feels the same peace as him.”

 

“The peace of the dead,” Steve said, his voice sounding hollow.

 

T’Challa gave him a curious look. “Is that why you cannot visit him? You think it resembles death too closely?”

 

Steve looked away. “It’s an invasion of his privacy,” he said, the words sounding like a lie to his own ears.

 

T’Challa smiled knowingly. “Of course, Captain.”

 

Steve stared at the door. Why was he even here?

 

“You know, it may help to see him.”

 

“Help with what?” Steve asked defensively, immediately bristling.

 

T’Challa looked like he wanted to roll his eyes in exasperation, but he was too dignified for that. “You are struggling. A dead man could see it.”

 

“I’m not struggling with anything,” Steve muttered, rolling his shoulders.

 

Steve could tell T’Challa was frowning dubiously without even looking at him. “You know,” he began, and Steve braced himself. “People run in different ways. Bucky physically removes himself from you in effort to protect you.” Steve closed his eyes. “You, however, have never physically run from anything. You only run from yourself.”

 

Steve took a deep breath before shaking his head slowly. “I crashed a plane into the Arctic once. How’s that for physically running away?”

 

T’Challa shrugged. “Regardless, you were running then, and you are running now.”

 

“I thought I heard something about running being peaceful.”

 

“I don’t believe that,” T’Challa said with another shrug. “My father did.” He turned to face Steve fully. “Don’t you ever feel the need to _stop_ for a moment?”

 

Steve held his gaze for a moment, then turned around, walking towards the gym as he called over his shoulder, “I don’t need to stop. It’s not a part of the goddamn serum.”

 

He could hear T’Challa’s sigh from all the way across the hall.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha came to visit a few days later.

 

“Well, if it isn’t the Secret Avengers,” she said, strolling into the room where they were all hanging out.

 

“That you know absolutely nothing about,” Clint said cheerfully. “Hiya, Nat. I missed you.”

 

Natasha gave him a fond look. “Hey, Clint. Missed you too.”

 

“Ew,” Sam said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes.

 

Scott gave Steve a panicked look, like he had no idea what to do with himself and was sending Steve an SOS for help. Steve ignored him, and Scott sent him an even more betrayed look.

 

Wanda was nodding at Natasha warily from her place across the coffee table from Steve, where Steve had been teaching her how to play Blackjack.

 

Natasha made her way to Steve and patted him on the head once before pulling him into a hug. Steve folded himself up in her embrace, because he always felt so tiny when he was hugging Natasha. “How are you?” she whispered lowly in his ear.

 

Steve said nothing and pulled back with a smile that was only slightly strained. “How long’re you staying?”

 

She shrugged. “A week tops?”

 

“Alright.”

 

“What am I supposed to say? She totally beat me up last time,” Scott was whispering loudly to T’Challa.

 

T’Challa scoffed. “You aren’t alone on that,” he said bemusedly. “Make peace with it. You deal with _me_ fine, and I was on Stark’s side as well.”

 

“Yeah, but you didn’t personally beat _me_ up. You were all focused on wrecking Barnes’ ass.”

 

“I was.”

 

“Gentlemen,” Natasha said, trying not to laugh at Scott’s deer-in-the-headlights look.

 

“Black Widow, ma’am,” he said awkwardly.

 

“Miss Romanoff,” T’Challa said with a respectful nod.

 

Natasha huffed a laugh and then moved to hug Sam and Clint. Wanda leaned forward in her seat, drawing Steve back to the game. “Hit me.”

 

Steve smiled at her and dealt another card.

 

“We should go on a Secret Avengers mission,” Clint was saying as he and Natasha hugged, refusing to let go while Sam watched in mock-disgust. “Just like old times.”

 

Natasha leaned her head on his chest. “I’m here on vacation,” she complained.

 

“I thought you didn’t take vacations?”

 

“Excuse you, Clint,” Natasha said, faux-offended.

 

God, Steve almost forgot how much he’d missed her. He finished his game with Wanda, giving a few last tips, and got to his feet. “I’m going to bed.”

 

Natasha frowned. “It’s two in the afternoon.”

 

Everyone gave Natasha a slightly panicked look that Steve tried to ignore. “So?”

 

“That’s more like a nap,” Natasha said, glancing at the alarmed faces around her with a calculated gaze.

 

“Okay,” Steve said. It wasn’t like time really mattered all that much, but he could appease Natasha. “I’m going to take a nap, then.”

 

“Okay.”

 

The room was awkwardly quiet when Steve left, and he closed himself in his room gratefully.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve didn’t feel much anymore.

 

It was a good thing, he told himself. He didn’t want to deal with any feelings. The last time he’d dealt with feelings, he crashed a plane into the Arctic and prayed not to wake up.

 

But here he fucking was.

 

Steve didn’t really bother wrapping his knuckles anymore before he started at the punching bags. Bruce would’ve called it terribly unhealthy, and Peggy would’ve given him the most unimpressed-slash-concerned look in history, and Bucky would’ve probably manhandled him into being safe with a horrible glare, but none of them were here, so they didn’t exactly have a say.

 

Steve hit the punching bag once, feeling the familiar tingle of sensations as his knuckles collided with the heavy material, and with that movement came the first spark of anger.

 

Anger. That was easy to deal with.

 

Steve hurled himself into the punches, and he didn’t notice when his skin started to bleed and peel off. He never really did.

 

Bless Wakandan technology for being able to create a punching bag that almost certainly wouldn’t break. God knows Steve had punched the shit out of the thing every day for the past six months.

 

Steve faltered slightly when he heard a choked-down noise of alarm. He threw a look over his shoulder to see Natasha standing in the doorway with wide eyes. Huh. It was difficult to catch her so off-guard that the expression stayed on her face. Or maybe she’d just changed since the last time they’d seen each other.

 

Steve turned back to the punching bag, and he dully noticed the agony in his knuckles this time. Good.

 

“Steve,” Natasha said, sounding profoundly unhappy.

 

Steve took a deep, shuddering breath and forced himself to step back. “Hey, Nat.”

 

She stared at him, eyes flicking down to his hands.

 

Steve followed her gaze and saw that his skin had been peeled away enough to show the bones again. Steve flexed his fingers, watching the exposed white with mild satisfaction. “What’s up?” he said, looking back up.

 

Natasha approached him slowly. “You need help fixing those up?”

 

Steve glanced at his hands again. “What? No, this is fine. They’ll heal before morning—don’t worry about it.”

 

Fear flashed through Natasha’s eyes. “This happens a lot?”

 

Steve blinked. “Um.” Internalizing Natasha’s near-horrified expression, Steve said, “No?”

 

“Steve.”

 

“It happens sometimes.”

 

Natasha grabbed his wrist and turned his hand over, staring down at the damage. She glanced over at the bloody punching bag, and Steve saw the darkness flare through her gaze. “That’s not okay.”

 

“Nat, come on, it’s nothing permanent,” Steve said with an eye roll.

 

“Fine, just humor me, then. Make an effort to wrap your goddamn knuckles from now on. I need you to take care of yourself a little bit here. Not everyone else can do it for you.”

 

Steve immediately felt guilty. “Look, I don’t want anyone to waste time worrying about me—“ he began.

 

“Good, so don’t give us a million reasons to worry,” Natasha snapped.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Natasha bit her lip. “Fine,” she agreed, not sounding like she agreed at all. “Let me dress these for you.”

 

“They feel fine, Nat.” Steve wasn’t about to explain that he kind of relished the pain because even _he_ knew how absolutely crazy that sounded.

 

“Humor me,” she gritted out. “I care about you, you asshole.”

 

“I care about you too,” Steve said with a sigh. “Fine.”

 

So, he let Natasha dress his knuckles and fingers so that the world wouldn’t be forced to see the hollow bones inside his hollow body anymore.

 

They sat in silence for a while.

 

“You been in to see Barnes much?” Natasha asked eventually.

 

Steve shook his head, tapping the bandages just to feel the hot sparks of pain.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Not like there’s a point to staring at him while he’s frozen,” Steve said stiffly.

 

Natasha gave him a look. “Steve, do you remember what you told me a few months after we found out he was alive?”

 

Steve closed his eyes. Of course he did.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve sat quietly in his closet, staring blankly at his knees in the darkness. Natasha found him after a while and sat down next to him in silence.

 

“I know it’s been hard on you,” she started.

 

Steve shook his head. “It’s okay. Bucky’s alive. That’s all I can ask for.” His voice sounded so terribly weak to his own ears.

 

Natasha nudged him. “You’re allowed to be selfish, Steve. You’re allowed to want more.”

 

Steve gave a bitter laugh. “No, I’m not.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“Do you know how long I lasted the first time he left?” Steve said suddenly.

 

Natasha went very still.

 

“Not even a week,” Steve answered, voice harsh. “Bucky died and I didn’t even last a week. It was a fucking _blessing_ to crash that plane.”

 

“Steve—“

 

“This time, I’ve done better,” Steve went on. “He left again, and that’s okay. Because now I’ve had practice at pretending to be alive without him here. I’d say I’ve lasted a hell of a lot longer than I did last time.”

 

Natasha was staring at him, for once at a complete loss for words. “I—“ she tried, but nothing else came out.

 

“I _hate_ the thing I become without him here.”

 

They were quiet again.

 

“We’ll find him,” Natasha swore. “We’ll get you your happy ending.”

 

“I didn’t have a happy beginning or a happy middle,” Steve said, rising to his feet. “What makes you think the ending will be any different?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Yeah,” Steve whispered.

 

“I do know how much he means to you—I really do,” Natasha said. “And you’re not going to be able to hide from it forever.”

 

Steve shrugged. “Bucky can, though,” he muttered bitterly, and then froze immediately, giving Natasha a panicked look. “I didn’t mean that.”

 

Natasha gave him a considering look before saying very carefully, “You’re allowed to be resentful, Steve. That doesn’t make you a horrible person who doesn’t respect his choices. That makes you human.”

 

Steve looked at his bandages. He hadn’t been human when he came out of the ice. He’d been _Captain America_. And now, he didn’t even have that. Now, he was just hollow. “I’m not resentful,” he said forcefully, and he and Natasha both knew that he was trying to make himself believe it.

 

“He left you again. This time, of his own free will,” she said gently, and Steve closed his eyes again before he did something really fucking pathetic like cry or some shit. “You are allowed to be resentful.”

 

“I’m not,” Steve insisted. “I can’t.”

 

“He _left_ ,” Natasha said again, and Steve quickly shoved to his feet and started gathering up his stuff. “Steve—“

 

“I’m not talking about this,” he muttered, eyes burning. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

Natasha stood up and started to follow him. “Look, I—“

 

“Just drop it, Nat!” Steve snapped, whirling around. Natasha froze. “I _can’t_ talk about this. Fucking _drop it_.”

 

She held up both hands in surrender. “Okay,” she agreed softly. “Want to go bother Sam?”

 

Steve shook his head. “I’m going to bed.”

 

Natasha glanced at her watch and frowned harder. “But—“

 

“I’m tired.”

 

Natasha took a deep breath and nodded a few times. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Steve strode out of the gym.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Natasha intercepted him on the way to breakfast and linked arms with him. She chatted about Tony’s new prodigy, which Steve mostly tried to ignore because he didn’t like thinking about Tony and how Steve had literally been on the brink of killing him the last time they’d—

 

Anyway.

 

But Natasha was being purposefully chatty, which was nothing like the Natasha he loved. He supposed she was either trying something new or wary enough of the Wakandans that she tried to fill the silence with noise.

 

It turned out that she was using the noise as a temporary distraction. Because when Steve finished breakfast, he noticed a new weight in his pocket.

 

It was a phone with only one app. He closed himself into the relative safety of his room and opened the app.

 

Files of information danced before his eyes, and Steve’s lips ticked up into something like a smile.

 

Natasha knew him too well.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve punched his new hostage again. “You’re going to have to speak up,” he snapped.

 

Yuri coughed up some blood, his dazed eyes coming to focus on Steve. “Fuck off,” he said, louder.

 

Steve slammed his head back, hard, and Yuri cried out. “Your information on the Winter Soldier,” he said again in his most Captain America voice.

 

This time, Yuri just made a gagging noise.

 

Changing tactics, Steve smoothed down his shirt and released him. “Listen,” he said lowly. “I haven’t killed a single person since 1945. I wasn’t especially looking to break a seventy-one years’ long streak, but I don’t have many reservations left either.” Yuri stared at him, something like fear flashing through his eyes. “So, I’m gonna ask you again.” Steve pressed his hand against Yuri’s throat with the slightest pressure. “Where is your information on the Winter Soldier?”

 

Yuri closed his eyes for a minute before managing, “You won’t be able to find it. All of it is in my head.”

 

“Hm,” Steve said, considering. “I guess we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way, then.” He clicked the safety off his gun and pressed it against Yuri’s jugular. “There are words that trigger him into his conditioning.” Yuri nodded shakily. “How do we deprogram them?”

 

Yuri gave him a desperate look. “Shit—you _can’t_.”

 

Steve tsked. “Now, that’s not the attitude I like to hear.”

 

“Do you know how rigorous and extensive his programming is? You can’t merely deprogram him. It’s basically impossible.”

 

“I don’t particularly care.” Steve let his finger tense on the trigger. “There has to be a way.”

 

“ _Kill_ him,” Yuri snarled.

 

“Try again.”

 

“Carve out part of his brain.”

 

“No.”

 

Yuri looked at him desperately. “What do you what me to say? That there’s a magic reset code?” Steve lifted a shoulder, purposefully nonchalant. “You have to damage him more to fully deprogram him. That’s the fucking truth.”

 

Steve stared at him for a long moment. “I don’t believe you.”

 

“Go fuck yourself, Rogers. Shoot me if you’re so sure. Hail fucking Hydra.”

 

A spike of rage went through him, and Steve squeezed the trigger without thinking. Yuri dropped like a particularly heavy stone. “Fuck you too,” Steve snapped at the body. “There’s gotta be another way.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve got back to Wakanda, and Sam gave him the most betrayed look he’d ever seen.

 

“You went on a secret mission without me?”

 

Steve shrugged. “It wasn’t any fun anyways. Nothing important happened—you would’ve hated it.”

 

Sam huffed in irritation and ranted to Steve about all the bullshit he had to deal with on his own while Steve was sent through medical.

 

“Sorry, Sam,” Steve said when he’d finally been released.

 

Sam gave him a fond look that did a great job at hiding his concern. “I just don’t want you to be alone, man.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes when Steve couldn’t sleep and had enough energy to feel restless, he wandered around the haven at night.

 

When he ran into someone, it was usually nobody he knew, so he didn’t get bothered too much. However, he did not have that luxury tonight.

 

“Oh, hey Captain Amer—Steve. Hey, Steve,” Scott said awkwardly when Steve walked into the kitchen to find it not-empty.

 

“Lang,” Steve said.

 

“You hungry?”

 

Steve shrugged. He felt so disconnected from his own brain that it was hard to tell. Scott slid him a plate of strawberries anyway. “Thanks.”

 

“You awake this late often?” Scott asked, deliberately casual.

 

“Sometimes.”

 

Scott nodded. “I think about my daughter a lot. Keeps me awake some nights. I hate that she can probably think I left her behind.”

 

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Steve said slowly. “Didn’t T’Challa set up a means for safe communication?”

 

Scott sighed. “They can’t trust a little girl not to spill our location, so when I talk to her, it’s brief.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Steve said, while the bitter, venomous voice in the back of his head hissed, _At least you can talk to her at all_. Steve ignored it, as always.

 

Scott nodded. “It’s alright. Best-case scenario. At least I’m not in prison again, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

Steve ate a strawberry. It was nice.

 

Scott smiled at him.

 

Steve finished his plate of strawberries surprisingly quickly. He blinked at it.

 

“Wow. You’re hungrier than I thought,” Scott said.

 

“Yeah,” Steve muttered.

 

“When was the last time you ate?” Steve didn’t answer, and Scott quickly said, “I’ll go make some waffles.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

They ate their waffles in silence, and Steve was kind of startled to melt into the flavor.

 

“They good?”

 

“Best waffles I’ve ever had.”

 

“Thanks! My roommate had a secret recipe and all that jazz.”

 

“Alright.”

 

Scott finished his waffles and stood. “Well, Rogers. I’m gonna try and get some shut-eye.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“See ya on the flipside.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was dark and quiet and the world was muted when Steve stopped in front of the door to the room Bucky was in.

 

“Fuck,” Steve hissed under his breath. He was being an idiot. It was just a room. He could go wherever the fuck he wanted to go.

 

He shut down his brain and shoved open the door.

 

Steve wandered over to the glass panel that separated him from the alcove that contained the cryochamber. He stared blankly ahead.

 

Bucky looked exactly the same.

 

Steve wasn’t sure what he’d expected. He wasn’t sure why he was dully surprised. But Steve knew _he_ had changed. He stayed away from mirrors when he could, but he’d seen the bags under his eyes that looked like bruises. He’d seen the thinness in his face where he hadn’t been eating as much. He’d seen the deadness in his own eyes.

 

And here was Bucky in his angelic, all-white get-up, soft hair and soft expression, one-armed and beautiful and peaceful and completely the same.

 

It hurt, Steve realized. He wondered if he’d come into this room with a wrinkled face and white hair and find Bucky still unchanged. It _hurt_.

 

Steve walked into the alcove and sat in the chair that was in front of Bucky’s cryochamber. His eyes roved over Bucky’s features for a moment, even though he’d memorized his face a million times. He let out a shaky breath and rested his elbows on his knees, dropping his head to hang down between them.

 

He stayed there long enough that the lighting changed several times, but staying here wasn’t making him feel better or whatever he thought might happen. It was making him feel _worse_ , and he couldn’t have that, so he shakily got to his feet.

 

He paused in front of the cryochamber before he left and, without thinking, pressed his hand flat against the glass in front of Bucky’s face. Steve closed his eyes and struggled with his next breath, eyes burning.

 

Then, he turned on heel and left.

 

* * *

 

 

He and Sam were tag teaming against Scott and Clint on some first-person-shooter video game (and were totally destroying them) when Wanda came into the room and urgently shook Steve’s shoulder.

 

He put down his controller to look at her. “Boooo,” Sam said while Clint and Scott cheered, but Steve was focusing on Wanda.

 

“What’s up?” he asked, brow furrowing in concern. She looked like she was about to cry.

 

Without a word, she grabbed his arm and dragged him into the nearest empty room. “Barnes went into cryo because he was scared of the trigger words, right?”

 

Steve’s throat closed up, and he looked away. “Yeah,” he finally managed, and his voice sounded dead.

 

Wanda dragged her hands through her hair. “I’ve been a selfish idiot.”

 

“What’re you talking about?” Steve asked, slightly bewildered.

 

“I can _go in there_.”

 

“In his mind?” When Wanda nodded, Steve just shook his head. “You haven’t done that since Sokovia, Wanda. I know you hate it.”

 

“I’ve been selfish,” she repeated. “I could make it better for him, theoretically.”

 

“Theoretically,” Steve deadpanned, but his heart started to hammer.

 

Wanda bit her lip and studied Steve’s face. “It’s simple in theory, really. All I’d have to do is find the words and make them meaningless.”

 

“But?”

 

Wanda looked away. “But the only time I’ve ever gone into another person’s brain is to bring forward their worst fears. I know how to do nothing else. I don’t know if I wouldn’t hurt him.”

 

And Steve would never risk even the slightest possibility of hurting Bucky.

 

But they didn’t call him one of the greatest strategists in history for no reason.

 

“You need to practice it?” Steve asked, beginning to pace, thinking about logistics but not thinking about what this could mean.

 

Wanda gave him a wary but curious look. “In order for me to be certain in my abilities? Yes.”

 

“And do you want to do this?”

 

Wanda froze for a long moment, and Steve physically ached at the sight of the pain etched into her features. She took a deep breath. “The last time I went into someone’s brain, it was to do irredeemable damage. This time would be to save two lives.”

 

“Two?” Steve said in surprise, but Wanda gave him a hard look, and he shut up. Steve cleared his throat. “Right. Well. I volunteer.”

 

Wanda blinked. “What?”

 

“Practice on me.”

 

She shook her head once. “Steve—“

 

“Wanda.” She clamped her mouth shut. “If this is the only way to get him to feel safe with himself, I’ll do _anything_.”

 

“If I mess this up, the consequences could be worse than death. What if I make everything meaningless for you? What if I unearth things you never wanted to think? What if your mind becomes a trap? It’s not worth it.”

 

Steve felt a flash of anger. “He’s worth my life a thousand times over.”

 

Wanda made an unhappy noise. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

 

Steve winced and hated himself a little bit more. “It’s your choice,” he said carefully, “but I’m not gonna stop until we find a way to save him.”

 

“You’re not,” Wanda agreed, voice cracking a little bit. “I wonder which path would destroy you more.”

 

Steve just shrugged. “I’m gonna go sit with him,” he mumbled, thinking of Bucky’s unchanging body.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Call me if you need anything.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve stared at his hands for a long time before he whispered, “If we deprogrammed the trigger words, would you find a new reason to keep yourself frozen?”

 

He blinked guiltily and hunched his shoulders.

 

“Sorry, Buck. I didn’t mean it like that. I’d—I’d respect that too.”

 

He took a quavering breath.

 

“I just... Sometimes you don’t seem like you’d want to be awake.”

 

He looked at Bucky’s face and tried not to think about how he was talking to a frozen person.

 

“And I totally understand that too. Probably more than you’d want me to.”

 

He absentmindedly scratched the inside of his palm, but the movement was violent enough to draw blood, and Steve sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

“I just wish it’d get easier watching you leave.”

 

He leaned back in his seat and blinked a few times to ease the prickling in his eyes.

 

“But it won’t. It never does.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve’s visits to Bucky’s room had started to become regular. Even though he usually said nothing, it was the right thing to do.

 

(Because sitting with Bucky hurt more than watching the skin peel off his knuckles over and over again.)

 

But he hadn’t run into anyone yet.

 

Steve supposed it was only a matter of time.

 

Yet, he was still surprised when he walked in to find T’Challa sitting in Steve’s usual chair.

 

T’Challa straightened and wiped a hand across his eyes, sniffling. “Sorry.”

 

Steve was frozen, half in shock, half in concern. “You okay?”

 

T’Challa clasped his hands together. “I can’t help but feel responsible for all this.”

 

Steve blinked once. “What?”

 

T’Challa gestured vaguely. “My grief blinded me. Maybe if I had never gone after Bucky, none of this would have escalated.”

 

“Someone else would’ve gone after him. It would’ve escalated regardless,” Steve said quietly.

 

T’Challa bowed his head. “Maybe so.” He nodded at Bucky. “Your friend deserves another chance. He had all of his chances taken away.”

 

Steve swallowed roughly. “I know.”

 

They fell into quiet for a few moments. Then, T’Challa whispered, scarcely audible, “And I miss my father.”

 

Steve made his way over and sat next to T’Challa on the floor. T’Challa didn’t look at him. “My ma died way back when. It was brutal. But I had Buck to help me through it.”

 

T’Challa blinked very slowly, Adam’s apple bobbing.

 

“Point is, you need a support system. It doesn’t mean your father’s death will get any easier, but it’ll get easier to deal with it.”

 

T’Challa scrubbed a hand across his face again. “I _have_ a support system, and you are a damn hypocrite,” he muttered.

 

Steve froze, but he tried to ignore the sudden anger in T’Challa’s voice. He hadn’t sounded like this since—well. “Who?” Steve asked.

 

“The Secret Avengers. And my other friends, whom you’ve never met.”

 

Steve nodded.

 

T’Challa finally angled his head to look at him. “The fact that he is not here does not give you the excuse to cut yourself off from the rest of your support system.”

 

Steve sighed. “I’m fine.”

 

“You keep telling yourself that, Captain. At least I know when I am unwell,” T’Challa said with a surprisingly dignified sniffle. He didn’t even bother to hide the few tears that slid down his face.

 

They didn’t say anything after that. But after a while, T’Challa sighed in resignation and put his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

 

And they both pretended not to look at Bucky.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Wanda barged into his room a few weeks later and said, “I will agree to practice this on you on one condition.”

 

Steve looked at her warily, trying not to get his hopes up. “What?”

 

“You tell the rest of them that we’re doing this so that they can interfere if it seems like something’s going wrong.”

 

Steve pursed his lips and figured that this was probably the best deal he was gonna get. And it was probably for the best. He didn’t want Wanda to feel guilty if she fucked up his brain even more. “Deal.”

 

Wanda nodded a few times, then walked forward to wrap Steve in her arms. Steve didn’t react for a moment, but he bent down and returned the hug with equal force. God, he loved this kid.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered into his shirt.

 

“Even if you do,” Steve said gently, “I am honest-to-god _asking_ for it. I’m _begging_ for it, Wanda. The only one whose fault it’d be is mine.”

 

“I wish it were that simple.”

 

Guilt never really was.

 

Steve pulled back from the hug to look her in the eye. “Wanda. Do you think this is the right thing to do?”

 

Wanda scrubbed furiously at her face. “I—I think so?”

 

Gee, that was a reassuring amount of conviction to work with. “Well, what’s the alternative?” he asked gently.

 

Wanda looked down and whispered, “You destroy yourself slowly.”

 

Steve winced. He almost opened his mouth to deny it, but how would that help anything?

 

She let out a shaky breath. “You’re right. Let’s do this.”

 

Steve smiled.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Steve-oh,” Sam said as Steve and Wanda walked into the room that the rest of them were currently hanging out in. Wanda was gripping Steve’s hand tightly.

 

“Hey,” Steve said. “Listen, guys, there’s something I need to tell you about.”

 

That got everyone’s attention. They all paused in the middle of what they were doing, staring at Steve with a mixture of hope and anxiety. Steve hated himself a little bit more.

 

“Wanda thinks she may be able to deprogram Bucky’s trigger words,” Steve began, and everyone exchanged glances. “The problem is that she’d need to practice something similar in order to make sure she wouldn’t do any damage.”

 

There was a beat of quiet.

 

Sam stared at him, gaze hard. “You wouldn’t,” he whispered in disbelief.

 

Steve swallowed and stared at his feet. “She’s gonna practice on me.”

 

Sam got to his feet. “Steve, think rationally about this for a moment,” he said, barely containing his anger.

 

“Wanda and I have been sitting on this for weeks,” Steve said, bristling.

 

“So sit on it a little longer!” Sam snapped.

 

T’Challa stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “What Sam is trying to say is that we aren’t sure whether you’ve considered this thoroughly enough. This is dangerous, Steve.”

 

“I know,” Steve said.

 

“Having your mind messed with on that level isn’t something you can just shake off,” Clint said, scowling. “I doubt Barnes would want you to do this.”

 

“ _But he’s not here_ ,” Steve shouted with a lot more anger than he meant. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

 

Scott was staring at his lap uncomfortably while Wanda just held Steve’s hand tighter. It was something to focus on.

 

“Bucky doesn’t have a say in this,” Steve finally managed, his voice much more low and controlled. “And neither do you guys. This is a choice that only Wanda and I can make. We were being fucking polite telling you what we’re gonna do.”

 

“It’s much better than the alternative,” Wanda whispered. “At least this way, there’s a chance for getting better.”

 

Everyone was quiet for a moment as they digested this. Sam still looked too pissed to put together a coherent argument, and Clint was glaring fiercely, but T’Challa was starting to get that understanding look on his face.

 

“This isn’t—“ Sam started, voice strangled.

 

“This isn’t your decision,” Steve cut in, his voice getting softer. Sam hunched his shoulders, and T’Challa started circling his thumb over the fabric of his shirt in a comforting gesture.

 

“I don’t agree,” Clint said. “So don’t blame me when you get fucked over for this.”

 

“I don’t agree either,” Sam said slowly, visibly trying to calm himself. “But I will try to—respect your decision,” he took a deep breath, “and will be there for you both if something goes wrong.”

 

Steve released Wanda’s hand after a final squeeze and walked over to Sam, grabbing the shoulder that T’Challa wasn’t holding. “Do you want to be there while we do this?” Sam stared at him blankly. “We want somebody to watch and be there in case it looks like it’s going wrong. You may be able to shake us out of it before it gets bad that way,” he whispered. “I’d kind of like you to be the first face I see.”

 

Steve belatedly realized that he was making an unbelievably selfish request. Of course it’d hurt Sam to watch Steve and Wanda if something went wrong. Before he could backtrack, though, Sam breathed, “ _Yes_ ,” as if he was relieved. Sam sagged forward, pressing his forehead against Steve’s collarbone, and Steve brought his hand up to the back of Sam’s head, telling himself that he absolutely _was not_ starved for this kind of casual affection.

 

“Are we done arguing now?” Scott whispered kind of fearfully to Clint.

 

“We’re only done arguing when Steve’s done being angry.”

 

Now, that obviously wasn’t true. The Secret Avengers didn’t argue 24/7, which clearly did not align with Steve’s constant anger. He made a vaguely disgruntled noise but didn’t press further.

 

Sam was leaning more heavily into Steve, and Steve wound his other arm around Sam’s back to pull him closer. T’Challa took a small step back, letting his hand fall awkwardly from Sam’s shoulder.

 

Wanda walked over to T’Challa and grabbed his arm, dragging him over to the coffee table. “Want to play poker?” she asked, sending Steve a look that said, _fix it with Sam_.

 

T’Challa furrowed his brows. “Don’t we need more people to play?”

 

Scott and Clint exchanged looks before shooting to their feet in unison. “I volunteer!” Scott said at the same time that Clint said, “Don’t mess with me—last time I played poker, I won a building.”

 

Everyone stared at Clint, and he shrugged. “What? It’s a long story.”

 

Wanda laughed, and they all gathered at the table.

 

Steve tried to discretely tow Sam to the opposite side of the room while not releasing him from their hug. Sam seemed to appreciate this, his hands twisting into fists in Steve’s shirt.

 

“You okay?” Steve whispered when they were mostly out of earshot.

 

Sam didn’t lift his head when he replied, “Any way this turns out, you’re gonna destroy yourself for him.”

 

Why did everyone keep saying that? “I’m fine, Sam.”

 

“I hate him so fucking much for doing this to you,” Sam said harshly, and Steve swallowed roughly.

 

“I know you two don’t get along,” Steve said hesitantly, recalling the strained ride in a cramped VW seven months ago.

 

“You know I’m talking about him leaving you, right?” Sam said, finally lifting his head. “I hated him before, sure. He’s an asshole.”

 

“ _I’m_ an asshole—“

 

“But now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to be civil with him. He just... _left_. He left you alone to try and cope with all this new shit and—“

 

“Sam. He doesn’t feel safe with himself,” Steve whispered, ignoring the pain stabbing through him at the truth in Sam’s words.

 

Sam shook his head. “I just figured you two were gonna try and get better together. I thought it’d be better after we found him. But it’s just fucking _worse_.”

 

“I’m... fine,” Steve whispered.

 

Sam ignored him. “It’s all fucked, and now you’re just gonna throw away the safety of your mind for him.”

 

“He’s worth it,” Steve said. “Look, Sam. I’m not anything anymore. I’m not Captain America, and I’m sure as hell not Steve Rogers.” Steve shook his head sadly. “But he’s _Bucky_. And I’ll give him anything he needs to be safe with himself again.”

 

“But what about _you_? What about you being safe with yourself?” Sam demanded quietly.

 

“I’m not anything, Sam. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“You’re a lying bastard,” Sam said tiredly, collapsing against Steve’s chest again. His voice was muffled when he said, “Promise you’ll at least _try_ to get better after this?”

 

Steve swallowed. “I’ll try.”

 

Sam went boneless, finally relaxing a little bit. “That’s all I can ask, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, what’s the plan?” Steve asked Wanda.

 

Wanda was pacing the length of floor in front of Steve’s bed. “We’re going to do this in two parts.” She held up one finger. “First, I’m going to find some sort of memory that’s buried under layers and layers of defense in your mind. And I’m going to bring it to the surface to identify and understand it.”

 

“That’s how you’re gonna find the trigger words?”

 

Wanda shrugged. “It makes sense. The best solution is usually the most simple one, anyway.”

 

“What’s the second part?” Sam asked tersely from the corner of Steve’s room.

 

“The second part can be done independently. I’ll take something in your mind that holds a lot of meaning—preferably a word—and make it meaningless.” She looked uneasy about this part. “We can probably try to undo this later.”

 

Steve shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

 

“Fuck you,” Sam muttered under his breath, scowling. He kicked the wall with his toe.

 

Wanda held up her hands. “Last chance to back out, Steve.”

 

“Same goes to you,” Steve said, leaning back on the headboard of his bed. “But I’m all in.”

 

Wanda nodded, and her eyes flashed red. “Sam, you knock me out if it looks like it’s all going to shit,” she said. Sam nodded curtly. “You ready, Steve?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Wanda twisted her hands, and Steve felt the oppressive sensation of an intruder in his mind. He closed his eyes, willing his breath to stay even.

 

Was he supposed to resist her? Would that make it more authentic? Probably. Despite wanting his mind to be safe again, Bucky would most certainly automatically block out anything messing with his brain.

 

So, Steve did what he did best. He shut down.

 

But Wanda’s oppressive presence didn’t leave. It just shoved into his brain with more force. Steve felt himself shudder at the feeling, and he could envision Sam twitching near Wanda, but he couldn’t bring himself to concentrate on it.

 

It felt like his thoughts were being shoved aside, until his mind was completely blank as that oppressive force delved deeper and deeper. Steve panicked and thoughtlessly tried to push it away, but the force didn’t even ease up. In face, it seemed to push harder into his mind.

 

Eventually, everything paused. Steve knew he was shivering, but he felt removed from his body. For one suspended moment, everything was quiet and blank.

 

Then, an explosion.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Steve thought about suicide, it was during a fight.

 

Which was. Y’know. So fucking typical of him. He could’ve laughed.

 

He’d been about to get decked in the face (again), when the thought slammed into his brain unbidden: _What if I tilted my head at an angle that the punch would snap my neck?_

 

The thought had scared him so badly that he’d stopped fighting altogether, laying in his bloody mess in shock. He’d soon dismissed that little thought as a lapse in judgment—just a passing morbid curiosity. He’d forgotten about it.

 

But it wasn’t the last time he had one of those thoughts.

 

It happened relatively frequently, but Steve never _acted_ on it or anything, so it wasn’t anything to worry about.

 

But then: _Good becomes great. Bad becomes worse._

 

Steve knew his anger was something to worry about when he got the serum. He’d always been intensely angry, so he knew it would probably just get worse. He’d been prepared for that.

 

He had not been prepared for the amplification of those fucking thoughts that he’d been dismissing all of his life.

 

He crossed an enthusiastically gushing, cold-as-fuck river, and thought, _What if I slipped?_

 

He lifted his gun to shoot a Nazi in the head and thought, _What if I hesitated?_

 

He took watch by the edge of the camp and thought, _What if I got lost and starved to death before they could find me?_

 

It scared him shitless, and it wouldn’t stop. The thoughts wouldn’t even leave him the fuck alone when he just wanted to be fucking happy.

 

“Agent Carter will probably be there,” Bucky was saying with a wiggle of his eyebrows. The expression was darker than it had ever been in Brooklyn, but Steve had gotten used to that by now.

 

“Shut up,” Steve said without heat, unfurling the blanket he and Bucky shared.

 

“Seriously, Rogers,” Bucky drawled, smirking insufferably, “if you don’t make a move soon, you’ll both be old and gray by the time you get to second base.”

 

Steve snorted. “I’ve been to second base before.”

 

Bucky shot him a betrayed look. “You would’ve told me if you did,” he said.

 

“Buck, I’m not throwing away a girl’s privacy for your need to gossip.”

 

“Who was it, then?” Bucky demanded, crossing his arms.

 

Steve sighed. “You remember Lydia Singer?”

 

Bucky snapped his fingers. “The tiny brunette dame?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Nice.”

 

Steve tossed the blanket at Bucky, who made a pleased noise and bundled it around his shoulders. Steve smiled at him and turned to grab his gun.

 

“And where are you going?”

 

“Taking watch.”

 

Bucky stared at him in disbelief. “Don’t you need any sleep at all?”

 

Steve shrugged. “Not as much.”

 

Bucky sighed and mournfully dropped the blanket. “I’m comin’ too.”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

Bucky just rolled his eyes and grabbed his own gun.

 

“We’re taking first watch,” Steve informed the rest of the Commandos as they wandered towards the edge of their makeshift camp.

 

“It’s all mountainous out there,” Gabe said. “Be careful not to fall and break your neck.”

 

A little thrill went through Steve’s chest, and he swallowed with some difficulty. “Will do,” he said, hoping that the words didn’t sound as hollow as they felt. Fuck, what was wrong with him?

 

Bucky gave him a weird look, but he didn’t say whatever he was thinking, so Steve didn’t ask.

 

To Steve’s disappointment, they made their way through the treacherous, snowy terrain with excessive care. Which was all Bucky’s fault. But they eventually found a good log to sit on, facing the most likely direction that enemies would come from. They fell into the comfortable silence that came with a lifetime of friendship—a comfortable silence that came with being in a war together.

 

“You been okay lately, Stevie?” Bucky asked suddenly.

 

Steve frowned in surprise. “Buck, you were a POW.”

 

“I really don’t see what that has to do with my question in the slightest,” Bucky said stiffly.

 

“I wasn’t tortured,” Steve said, as if that were a suitable answer.

 

Bucky gave him an annoyed look. “You sayin’ I’m fucked up?”

 

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “You know that’s not what I’m sayin’.”

 

Bucky was quiet for a moment. “I know it changed me in some... not-great ways. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be not-okay. It isn’t a mutually exclusive thing, y’know.” Steve didn’t say anything for a while. “Am I—making sense?”

 

Steve finally looked at him. “I’m fine.”

 

Bucky scrunched his nose up doubtfully.

 

“If I seem different, it’s just ‘cause the serum is supposed to amplify everything. Maybe it amplified some things I’d been good at hiding before.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Steve scowled. “Can’t think of anything off the top of my head,” he lied.

 

They settled into silence again, less easy. But Bucky was fucking exhausted no matter how much he insisted he wasn’t, and he ended up falling asleep on the log within the hour.

 

Steve watched him for a few minutes. Then, he pulled off his jacket and covered Bucky’s body with it, protecting him from the snow. Steve stood up and wandered a little ways away with a considerable less amount of care than before. He found himself standing at the edge of a craggy drop-off, staring down into the dangerous blackness of the promise of a horrific plummet.

 

What if he just slipped?

 

Now, Steve started to feel scared of himself again. These morbid thoughts hadn’t been absolutely paralyzing with their terror for a while, but this felt different. There was nobody around to stop him if he tripped half a step forward. It’d be hours before anyone even figured out something was wrong.

 

Steve had never acted on any of these thoughts. But—fuck—it felt like they kept getting more and more tantalizing. And here he was, staring down into death.

 

He didn’t know where these thoughts came from. He knew suicide was supposed to represent the utmost cowardice. But instead of feeling like a coward, he just felt more daring, braver, and that scared him even more.

 

Steve nudged a rock and watched it disappear into the drop-off. What would that feel like? He leaned forward, just to see a little better, and—

 

An arm wound around his waist and yanked him back, hard, throwing him down away from the drop-off. Bucky stood over him, eyes wide in the dark. “Are you out of your mind?” he snapped, voice strangled with fear. “What—what the fuck were you _doing_?”

 

Steve’s heart was hammering. He swallowed with some difficulty and started to get up. Bucky scrambled to help him. He pulled Steve to his feet, but he grabbed his biceps tightly, unwilling to let him move. “Relax, Buck. I was just seeing if I could see the bottom,” he lied.

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, not having any of it. “Don’t fucking bullshit me. What the _fuck_ were you doing, Stevie?”

 

Steve stared at the ground. Oh, god. He’d actually been _this close_ to letting himself fall off a cliff. How was he supposed to explain the rationale behind that? “I—“

 

Bucky was staring at him with such fear that Steve started to feel scared too. His heartbeat picked up even more insistently, his breath coming quicker. “Hey, hey,” Bucky said urgently. “We’re okay, calm down, we’re okay, what’s going on?”

 

Steve managed several deep breaths before he dropped his forehead onto Bucky’s shoulder, willing himself to calm down the rest of the way. Bucky didn’t release his arms even a little bit.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Steve lifted his head and stared at a spot on Bucky’s chest. “I get these thoughts sometimes. It’s not a big deal. I just—“

 

“Like to lean off the edge of cliffs?” Bucky finished in disbelief.

 

Steve shook his head slowly. “I dunno. It’s like this weird fascination with dying. It’s not a big deal.”

 

Bucky was scarily quiet for a long moment. “What do you mean by that?” he asked in a blank voice.

 

Steve cringed. He wasn’t explaining this well. “I just. I’ll just be in situations sometimes and think about how I could die. It’s not weird,” he said, drawing his shoulders up defensively.

 

“Steve,” Bucky said lowly, and Steve looked up at Bucky’s furious expression. “You were about to fall off the edge of that cliff. That type of thinking is fucking dangerous as hell,” he spat.

 

“I have never ever acted on anything,” Steve said. “I was just fucking curious. Don’t you ever think about that? Like, would I be able to survive that drop?”

 

Bucky was shaking his head. “I really don’t.”

 

“Oh,” Steve said. They were silent for a while. “You think it’s dangerous?”

 

“A little bit,” Bucky said tersely.

 

“You’re not gonna be watching me like a fucking guard dog now, are you?” Steve demanded, annoyed.

 

Bucky glared at him. “Not if you give me more reason to.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Fine,” Bucky snarled. “Let’s get back to camp. I’m tired, and it’s Dernier and Gabe’s turn to take watch.”

 

Steve let himself be corralled back to camp and let Bucky aggressively snuggle into him as they fell asleep. Because he hadn’t meant to scare Bucky like that.

 

It wasn’t like he was ever planning on actually acting on these fucking thoughts anyway.

 

(Three days later, Steve was staring off the edge of a train, trying to make his frozen fingers release from their holds, begging the universe to finally let him fall.)

 

(A week later, Steve was guiding a plane into the water and sucking ice water into his lungs, thinking that this was the worst but most fitting way to die.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

“STEVE!” Sam was shouting, shaking his shoulders hard.

 

Steve blinked up at Sam. He was trembling violently, so Sam’s arms were shaking too, and that was the first thing he fixated on.

 

The next was his breathing. He was breathing too fast. Much too fast.

 

Sam grabbed Steve’s hand and closed Steve’s fingers into a fist, save for his middle and pointer fingers, which he extended. He guided the fingers until they were resting against Sam’s jugular, and Steve could feel his steady pulse. Steve fixated on this next, desperate to get his own heart rate back to that.

 

He didn’t know how much time passed until he finally let out a stressed breath and slumped back, letting his exhausted arm drop to the bed. “You with me?” Sam whispered fearfully.

 

Steve nodded a few times. “’M good,” he mumbled, voice hoarse.

 

Wanda was staring at him blankly from the corner of the room. Fuck. She’d seen all that. She’d seen all that when it was maybe the single memory Steve wanted to forget the most in the world.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

 

Wanda blinked, and a tear beaded and rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t know—I just found a memory that you were hiding so much you barely knew you were hiding it anymore. I didn’t think—“

 

“I’m fine,” Steve said while Sam stared at him in abject disbelief.

 

“Were you aware of yourself at all?” Sam asked. “’Cause you were having a panic attack.”

 

Steve ran an unsteady hand through his hair. “No. I was in the memory.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Wanda gasped again. Steve extended an arm towards her, and she launched herself across the room and curled herself into Steve’s arms, her body shaking with badly suppressed sobs. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Steve said, circling his arms around her tightly. “We’re okay.”

 

Wanda let herself cry a little bit harder, and Steve could feel his neck and shirt collar getting wet with her tears. Her ran a hand up and down her back, trying to be soothing.

 

Sam watched him, looking a little lost. “What—what happened?”

 

Neither Steve nor Wanda said anything. “You probably don’t want to know,” Steve finally said, thinking about just how fucked up that memory was.

 

“I want to know whatever you’re willing to tell me,” Sam said.

 

Wanda didn’t look up from Steve’s neck when she managed, “You don’t want to know.”

 

Steve’s heart broke a little bit more. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

Wanda sat up so that she could look at Steve, her eyes swollen. “Are you better now?”

 

Steve stared at her blankly. “I—what?”

 

“Are you better?” she repeated, her gazing not wavering.

 

Steve blinked a few times in confusion.

 

“You’re not still... thinking like that, are you?”

 

Steve frowned.

 

Wanda’s eyes widened. “Steve,” she said, voice cracking in pain.

 

“I’m not gonna—“ Steve shot Sam a look, and he just looked incredibly baffled and concerned at the same time. “I’m not gonna fuckin’...”

 

Wanda shook her head rapidly. “Are the thoughts still just as relentless?” she asked, staring intently at Steve, eyes shining.

 

Steve’s lips parted to answer, but the words wouldn’t come out.

 

“Oh, god,” Wanda breathed. She reached forward and grabbed Steve’s hand tighter. “You’re gonna get better. We’re gonna help you get better.”

 

Steve took a few deep breaths to steady his breathing, looking away so that he could collect himself. “But I’m fine.”

 

“Bullshit,” Wanda whispered fiercely.

 

“Wanda,” Sam warned. “We need to let Steve come to terms with himself on his own.”

 

“Well, you didn’t see what I just saw,” she snapped.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmured.

 

Wanda glared at Steve to disguise her fear, and Sam glanced worriedly between them as Steve slumped further down in his bed until he was curled loosely in the fetal position. “You okay, man?” he whispered, running a hand down Steve’s back.

 

“Yeah,” Steve managed quietly, staring blankly ahead.

 

Wanda clambered to her feet. “I—I’m exhausted. I need to rest,” she said hastily, obviously just needing some privacy. She left the room with one last mournful look in Steve’s direction.

 

Sam settled down next to him, watching his face carefully. “You wanna talk about it?”

 

Steve let his eyes focus on Sam’s face before he slowly shook his head.

 

Sam brushed some hair off Steve’s forehead, his eyebrows furrowing. “You know you can tell me anything in the world, Steve. There’s nothing I could judge you for.”

 

How would Sam react to this information? He’d probably go full guardian angel mode but would try to be discrete about it. Steve would feel so guilty he’d explode with it and end up pushing Sam away. He didn’t want that. “You don’t deserve to listen to it,” Steve finally said. He sighed. “You’re too good for me.”

 

Sam let out a stressed breath. “Steve, I’ve got PTSD too.”

 

Steve flinched. “I don’t—“

 

Sam gave him a stern look. “I’ve been to war. I’ve been a counselor at the VA. I’ve dealt directly with terrorists. Whatever you say to me will do no more damage than those things.”

 

“You say that now,” Steve muttered bitterly. “Just look at Wanda. She won’t be able to look me in the eye for a while without wanting to burst into tears.”

 

“This is different,” Sam said.

 

Steve buried his face in his pillow and wished he could suffocate himself with it. “I’m a pathetic piece of shit,” he said, voice muffled.

 

“No, you aren’t.”

 

“I am. ‘M a fucking coward. A selfish coward.”

 

Sam made a wounded noise and wrapped an arm around Steve’s back. “You’re not.”

 

“I am.”

 

“ _Steve_ ,” Sam said, his voice low and urgent, “You’re the best man I’ve ever met.”

 

And how was he supposed to react to that? All he knew was that his lungs started constricting, and his breath started hitching, and his eyes started burning, and then he was fucking sobbing into Sam’s shoulder with these ugly, horrible noises, because, _god_ , Sam was so, so wrong.

 

Sam held him close while he cried, and Steve never remembered falling asleep, but he must’ve, because the world faded down to nothing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve woke up and immediately knew that he would not have the energy to drag himself out of bed today. Sam was watching him with concern, and Steve could only blink slowly.

 

“What’s going on, man?” he asked Steve when Steve didn’t move twenty minutes after he’d woken up.

 

Steve swallowed. “Can’t,” he managed to rasp, then felt completely exhausted and let his eyes slide shut.

 

“Can’t what?” Sam prompted.

 

Steve didn’t respond, and Sam panicked and called Natasha.

 

“He woke up, but he isn’t moving, and I don’t know what to do,” Sam hissed into the phone when it connected.

 

“ _Is he hurt?_ ” Natasha said over the line, and Steve wanted to curse his super hearing. He didn’t fucking feel like listening to this conversation.

 

“No,” Sam said. “Not—not physically.”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Natasha said after a pause. “ _He got like this sometimes. Couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed. It didn’t happen very often_.”

 

“Nat, that’s—not—that’s not—“

 

“ _Healthy?_ ” Natasha finished dryly. “ _Have you_ met _Steve?_ ”

 

Sam made a frustrated noise. “Shit, we’ve all been thinking he’s just been sleeping a lot lately.”

 

“ _What do you mean?_ ”

 

“I mean Steve doesn’t come out of his room for fucking _days_ sometimes.” Huh. That was interesting. Steve usually thought his episodes never lasted more than a few hours.

 

There was a long pause. “ _Fuck_ ,” Natasha finally said.

 

“Yeah.” Sam was staring at him intently, and Steve wanted to tell him to fuck off, but the energy wasn’t there. “Look, I’ve gotta go. I’m gonna see what I can do.”

 

“ _Okay_ ,” Natasha said, concern evident in her tone. “ _Please keep me updated_.”

 

“I will.” They hung up, and Sam sat on the edge of Steve’s mattress. “Has this been happening a lot?”

 

Steve didn’t say anything.

 

Sam ran a tired hand through his hair. “Are you okay if I stay here until you feel better?”

 

Steve wanted to shrug and say that it was all the same to him, but he was incapable of doing even that, so he just blinked a few times and hoped Sam got the message.

 

Sam must’ve gotten some iteration of the message because he settled himself into Steve’s room and started anxiously watching something on Netflix while really not watching it at all.

 

Steve’s day passed in that hazy apathy that he’d gotten so used to. He couldn’t bring himself to care that Sam was here, even though he’d feel horrible about it later. He just... didn’t have the energy.

 

He started coming back to himself while Sam was playing a game on his phone.

 

“Hey,” he said, voice cracking with disuse. He cleared his throat.

 

Sam’s head snapped up. “Hey! Hey. How are you feeling?” Sam said in a rush, making an aborted movement towards Steve.

 

“Fine,” Steve muttered mildly.

 

“It’s been a couple days—“

 

“Yikes,” Steve sighed, propping himself up on an elbow.

 

Sam walked over to help pull him to his feet. “Is this what you’ve been doing every time we thought you were sleeping?” he asked quietly.

 

Steve lifted a shoulder uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”

 

“Steve, c’mon, man.”

 

“I mean, probably.”

 

Sam grimaced. “That’s not healthy, dude.”

 

“I’m the picture of health,” Steve said, rooting through his dresser for some clean underwear.

 

“Not talking about physical health, Steve.”

 

“Well, I don’t want to talk about mental health.”

 

Sam sighed heavily, and Steve felt a twinge of regret for making him feel annoyed. “We should talk about this.”

 

“What’s there to talk about?” Steve asked, purposefully nonchalant. “I sometimes run out of energy. It’s really not a big deal.”

 

Sam was oddly silent as Steve selected a clean outfit and headed for the shower.

 

“Go get something to eat, Sammy,” Steve said softly. “You haven’t left the room.”

 

Sam looked a little bit surprised. “I—Kit-Kat came in with some food while you were asleep.”

 

“Kit-Kat?” Steve asked blankly.

 

Sam blinked. “Oh. T’Challa. ‘Cause he’s a cat.”

 

“Oh,” Steve said. “Why don’t I have a candy-themed nickname?”

 

Sam frowned. “What’re you talking about? You’re my Sour Punch, obviously.”

 

Steve digested this information for a moment. “I’m not sure if that’s an insult or not.”

 

“It is.”

 

There was a pause.

 

“Go eat,” Steve said again. “Please?”

 

Sam nodded a few times. “Yeah, okay. Will you come join us?”

 

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I may go eat with Buck.”

 

Hurt flashed across Sam’s expression before he shuttered it. “Alright.”

 

Steve didn’t know how to fix whatever damage he’d just done, so he watched in silence as Sam left the room.

 

Half an hour later, Steve was eating a bowl of pasta in the chair at the base of Bucky’s cryochamber.

 

He felt like shit.

 

There was no logical reason that the memory Wanda had dredged up the other day should feel worse than the memory of drowning himself, but for some reason, it made his skin crawl more than the idea of the plane crash could (which was saying something).

 

Steve puzzled over this as he finished his pasta and started on his fish.

 

Drowning had been the most traumatic thing he’d ever gone through in his life. Sometimes he still woke up feeling like he was asphyxiating, his cells bursting, his veins literally freezing. It had hurt, and it had been so slow, and Steve had been achingly aware of every second of it.

 

In comparison, leaning over the edge of a cliff wasn’t terrifying at all.

 

Maybe it had to do with the implications of the whole thing.

 

Steve could never deny that his breaking point had been Bucky’s death. He’d gone completely off the rails—even more deliberately reckless and violent than normal. He’d gone from this calm, collected leader to a fucking mess in an instant. People were probably relieved when he died. Or, at the very least, they had to be unsurprised.

 

The thing was, Steve was fucked up before Bucky’s death.

 

Fuck, he really liked the idea that Bucky’s death had been some sort of massive turning point. Because if Bucky died, the entire world had to be off-kilter. There had to be a remarkable period of Before and After.

 

So, he liked to forget the continuities.

 

And there were a lot of fucking continuities.

 

Steve’s rage didn’t come from nowhere. That had always been bristling inside of him. He’d been better at controlling it before Bucky died, sure, but it didn’t just appear out of nowhere.

 

The readiness to die? That didn’t come out of nowhere either.

 

Steve had tried _so fucking hard_ to forget that he’d ever been close to offing himself before Bucky died. That was something incredibly dark and nasty inside of him, and it didn’t manifest when Bucky was gone.

 

It was... it was just always there. Grief hadn’t pushed him to the idea of suicide. It had just nudged him the rest of the way. Bucky had been a barrier between Steve and something always lurking in the corner of Steve’s mind, and that was somehow so much more terrifying than the thought that he’d started thinking about dying only after Bucky was gone.

 

Sometimes, Steve liked to think that Bucky brought out his “dark side,” or whatever Tony had called it. And that was true, to an extent. If Bucky was in danger, Steve lost any semblance of control, and that was fucking terrifying.

 

But Steve was much more dangerous without Bucky than he could ever be with Bucky.

 

Bucky was a buffer between Steve and his dark side. Bucky was Steve’s sense of self-preservation. Bucky was the only thing that held him back from the thoughts of death that had been chasing his heels his entire life.

 

That kind of codependency was just... fucking disturbing. Steve hated who he was without Bucky, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

 

Steve’s thoughts hadn’t quieted down when he’d been defrosted. Every time he’d crossed a street, he’d pray that a van would plow him through. Every time he was driving his motorcycle, he’d turn as recklessly as he could without raising suspicions. Every time he’d been on a mission, he never assigned someone to guard his six.

 

Steve thought they’d quiet down after he found out Bucky was alive, but they didn’t. The idea that Steve was fucked up all by himself—that there was no salvation, not even in Bucky—scared him so badly. It wasn’t like Steve wanted to think like this forever. He didn’t want to die. Not really. He didn’t think so, anyway. But he didn’t even know where to begin in moving away from the fucking monster he’d become in Bucky’s absence.

 

Steve looked up at Bucky, sniffling a little bit. He wiped at his eyes, but they were dry, thank fuck. “We’re gonna get better,” he whispered. “We’re gonna get better if it fuckin’ kills me, Buck.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Wanda was avoiding Steve.

 

That much was achingly obvious. Steve gave her space at first. Mostly because Sam got really clingy when he was worried, and he occupied Steve’s immediate attention much more thoroughly.

 

It was kinda nice, actually, in a horribly selfish way. Sam would lean into his side multiple times during a conversation, and he’d just gotten so incredibly touchy that Steve felt warm with it. Steve didn’t know if he was touch-starved or anything, but it was just really nice.

 

(Although, T’Challa always looked kind of offended every time Sam curled into Steve like a fucking cat. T’Challa didn’t have a monopoly on impersonating cats or anything, though.)

 

Steve was watching Sam, Clint, Scott, and T’Challa play MarioKart when he finally decided to address this thing with Wanda.

 

Sam was practically sitting in Steve’s lap, but his feet were shoved under T’Challa’s thigh, and he was shouting at the screen. “Yo, what the fuck, who blue-shelled me, motherfuckers?”

 

Scott laughed maniacally and twisted his controller.

 

“Et tu, Tic-Tac?” Sam shouted in exaggerated betrayal, and Steve laughed softly.

 

“Watch out, bitches, I’ve got a bullet!” Clint crowed.

 

“Bro, you’re in last place,” Scott said.

 

“WATCH OUT, BITCHES!” Clint shouted over him.

 

T’Challa smirked and launched a red shell at Scott’s character, and Scott howled with rage while Sam praised T’Challa for regaining Sam’s lost honor, and Steve had never been so happy to watch his friends insult each other.

 

Wanda walked into the room, and Steve figured she’d join the festivities, but as soon as she saw Steve, she froze and walked out.

 

Steve’s good mood plummeted, and he sighed, tapping Sam’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Sam shot him a vaguely panicked look. “Where’re you going?”

 

“Gotta talk to Wanda. I promise I’ll be right back.”

 

Sam relaxed slightly but said, “And who am I gonna use as a human pillow now?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes and shoved Sam into T’Challa’s side. T’Challa’s eyes went a little bit wide for an instant before he smoothed out his expression.

 

Sam barely reacted aside from a slow grin. “Oh, so you can be a kitty _and_ a pillow, huh?”

 

T’Challa smiled at him. “I am a man of many talents.”

 

“I’ll say so.”

 

Steve smiled fondly at them before he remembered himself and walked out of the room.

 

He found Wanda in the room of Bucky’s cryochamber, of all places, and the hair on his arms stood up at the idea of the conversation they were gonna have in front of him.

 

Wanda sighed. “I guess I knew this was coming,” she said morosely.

 

Steve didn’t really know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.

 

Wanda gestured at Bucky. “I never came in here very much for the past seven months. It creeped me out a little bit. But I’ve been visiting him since watching that memory.” She finally looked at Steve, cocking her head curiously. “It’s strange. I felt how much you care for him for one brief moment, and now I care for him too.”

 

Steve blinked a few times in surprise.

 

“I mean, not in the same way, obviously,” Wanda explained hastily, and Steve wondered what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

 

“I wanted to apologize again,” Steve said quietly. “I never meant for anyone to find out about that. You guys don’t deserve to take the weight of my bullshit.”

 

“We want to, though,” Wanda said softly. “We all just want to help you get better, in whatever capacity that is. I never, ever wanted to make it worse for you.”

 

“You didn’t,” Steve insisted. “I’ve had no lead with fixing Bucky’s head for seven months, and now you’re helping with that.”

 

“Steve,” Wanda began tiredly. “The easy part was finding what I’m looking for. The hard part is the deprogramming. I’m afraid that will do damage the most.”

 

“I’d rather it do damage to me than him,” Steve said with a shrug. They both watched Bucky’s face for a moment, and Wanda’s shoulders slumped.

 

She turned to him. “I’m just _so scared_ of hurting you again.”

 

“It won’t be worse than anything I’ve done to myself,” Steve said gently. “But if you want to back out, I completely understand.”

 

Wanda shook her head sadly. “I want to do this for you both.” She gestured to Bucky. “I want to meet you as you are with him for more than just a day.”

 

Steve’s heart ached as he traced Bucky’s face with his eyes. “I’m a lot more likeable when he’s around,” he said with a sad smile.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

 

Steve sat down in the seat that he usually sat in when he visited Bucky. All of a sudden, he wished he had a sketchbook, which was an urge that hadn’t gripped him for—fuck— _years_ , at least.

 

Wanda sat on the floor next to the chair. “We’ll try the deprogramming tomorrow,” she said. “Bring Sam back into it, and maybe Clint, just in case things go really wrong.”

 

“Alright,” Steve said. “Whatever happens, please don’t blame yourself if it goes wrong.”

 

Wanda just shook her head. “We both know very well that you can’t control guilt, Steve.”

 

They did. Steve sighed.

 

Wanda punched Steve in the leg. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“For the record, I do not want to be here,” Clint declared as Sam made sure Steve was comfortable for the billionth time.

 

“We brought you in because you’ll be the most paranoid, and we could use paranoia to our advantage,” Wanda said firmly. “I do not want to hurt Steve.”

 

“Got me there,” Clint agreed. He ruffled Wanda’s hair, and Wanda scowled venomously as she swatted him away.

 

“You sure you’re comfortable?” Sam asked again.

 

Steve glared at him.

 

“Okay, fine, fine, I get it, you’re comfortable, sheesh,” Sam muttered, holding his hands up in surrender.

 

Wanda looked at Steve. “So, what word is important enough that it has a lot of weight in your mind, but unimportant enough that you wouldn’t miss it if I can’t figure out how to restore its meaning?”

 

“Valkyrie,” Steve said, almost without thought. Sam looked at him with those sad puppy eyes that made everyone in the entire universe want to hug him.

 

“That sounds good to me,” Wanda agreed. Clint sulked in the corner of Steve’s room, and Steve resigned himself to the idea that he was probably gonna have bruised bones for the rest of the week because of Sam’s grip on his hand. “Ready?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Let’s go.”

 

Wanda twisted her hands, and her eyes flashed red. Steve felt her poke into his brain, and the word was pulled to the forefront of his mind so loudly that it was all he could think.

 

VALKYRIE.

 

He winced. Sam squeezed his hand tighter.

 

**VALKYRIE.**

 

**VALKYRIE.**

**VALKYRIE.**

**VALKYRIE.**

 

Steve shivered, his head starting to pound.

 

The word was so loud that it was starting to sound like nothing, sort of like when you said a word over and over again so much that it started to sound like it wasn’t a word at all.

 

Ice and pain and numbness flitted behind his eyes, and Steve didn’t know what was happening. Everything in his mind was such a jumble, and what the fuck was happening?

 

Abruptly, the screaming in his head stopped, and Steve gasped for breath, sagging into Sam’s side.

 

“You okay?” Sam demanded.

 

“F-fine,” Steve managed, teeth chattering. He was cold. What the fuck?

 

“Do you know where you are?” Wanda asked.

 

“My room. Wakanda.”

 

“Who are you?”

 

Steve blinked, trying not to panic. “I’m.”

 

“What’s your name?” Wanda amended quickly.

 

Steve sagged in relief. “Steve Rogers.”

 

“Why did you let me mess with your brain?”

 

“To help Bucky.”

 

“What does Valkyrie mean?”

 

Steve frowned. “Sounds like a really made-up word.”

 

Sam sucked in a harsh breath while Clint whistled, low and impressed.

 

Wanda still looked wary. “How did you end up in the future?”

 

Steve blinked a few times. “Uh. I was defrosted?”

 

The room went still again at the hesitancy in Steve’s voice. Wanda looked like she wanted to cry. “How did you end up frozen in the first place?”

 

Steve racked his brain. “I don’t...” he trailed off. “Did I fall after Bucky?”

 

“Sort of,” Wanda answered. She sniffled, and Steve wondered what he’d done wrong this time. “There was a plane,” she prompted.

 

Steve looked at her blankly. “I don’t remember.”

 

“Fuck,” Sam hissed.

 

“I can fix it,” Wanda said. “I didn’t take the memories away, I just obscured them, I think. I can fix it.” She sounded desperate, and Steve felt guilty.

 

“Wanda, wait a sec,” Clint said, but Steve felt Wanda shove her way back into his brain, and the world disappeared again.

 

And then all he could feel was cold.

 

God, everything around him was freezing. He choked on the icy water even as he sucked it into his lungs, willing himself to suffocate faster. The blood in his veins was going slow and blue, and his skin was starting to explode with the pressure of the water. God, this was the slowest death in the history of the entire world, but he fucking deserved it, he wanted to feel every second, he—

 

Sam shook him so violently that Steve’s head smacked into the wall, and Steve sucked in a greedy lungful of air, scrabbling at his throat. Tears blurred his vision, and he gasped raggedly as Sam brought Steve’s fingers up to feel his pulse like he always did when Steve was having a panic attack, and Steve wanted to fucking die.

 

“I didn’t mean—“ Wanda stammered, sounding horrified.

 

Clint made a hushing noise and pulled her into a hug, trying to soothe her back from the brink of self-hatred.

 

Steve wanted to reassure her too, but he hadn’t had a panic attack this bad since the first few months out of the ice, and oh great now he was thinking about the fucking ice again and—

 

“Steve, c’mon,” Sam begged, and Steve tried harder.

 

He broke the surface of the attack with an exhausted breath, then pitched forward into Sam’s chest, shaking life a fucking leaf.

 

God, he was pathetic.

 

When he fully came back to himself, Sam asked softly, “You remember the crash?”

 

Steve nodded shakily.

 

“What does Valkyrie mean?” Wanda asked hoarsely from where Clint was still hugging her.

 

Steve blinked. “I dunno.”

 

The room let out a collective breath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve watched the skin over his knuckles start to reknit itself together. He wondered if, one day, he’d peel off enough skin to see the entire bone of his finger, but he kinda doubted it.

 

T’Challa walked into the room. “They’re going to wake him up in an hour,” he said quietly. “Don’t you want to be there?”

 

Steve blinked at him. “I don’t know if he would want me to be there.”

 

“I’m sure that isn’t true.”

 

Steve shrugged.

 

“You’re scared,” T’Challa observed.

 

“A little.”

 

“At least be near the room when he wakes up. In case he asks for you.”

 

“He won’t.”

 

“He might.”

 

Steve sighed. “Fine.”

 

T’Challa gestured at Steve’s knuckles. “Will those heal before he can see them?”

 

“Fuck,” Steve said softly. “No.”

 

T’Challa grabbed a roll of gauze and wound it around the bloody mess of Steve’s hands. He glanced at the punching bag, which had some pretty permanent bloodstains. “You will not be able to hide this from him forever.”

 

“I know. Can’t hurt to delay it, though.”

 

“Alright.” T’Challa pulled Steve to his feet. “Go shower and meet me at his room.”

 

Steve did as he was told with a little curtsey and a sarcastic, “Your majesty.” T’Challa huffed a laugh as he watched Steve go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve was biting down on his thumb, ignoring the gauze around his knuckles, as he paced in front of the door to the room Bucky was inside.

 

Wanda and T’Challa were in there to help the doctors reorient Bucky to the world of the living, and Steve hated himself for not being brave enough to be in that room too.

 

Sam leaned against the wall, scowling at nothing. “I hate this guy,” he muttered.

 

“I know,” Steve said absently. “One day, you’re gonna say you love him, and I’m gonna laugh my ass off.”

 

“I highly doubt that.”

 

A lifetime of pacing later, T’Challa nudged the door open and poked his head out. “He’s asking for you,” he said quietly, staring intently at Steve.

 

Steve felt sick. Bucky was awake in there. Bucky was asking to see him. Sam squeezed his shoulder, and Steve somehow found himself walking into the room.

 

Bucky was slumped tiredly on the table as doctors took a few blood samples to analyze. He looked up at Steve, and Steve’s breath caught in his throat.

 

“Steve,” he said roughly, and Steve was a fucking goner.

 

“Uh. Hey. Hey, Buck,” he managed, shoving his hands into his pockets awkwardly as he stood in front of the single most important person in his life.

 

Bucky lifted his arm a little bit, and Steve took the cue, stepping forward to grab his hand loosely. Some tension drained out of Bucky’s shoulders, but he frowned as he ran a thumb over the gauze on his knuckles. “What happened here?”

 

“Got in a fight.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, a small smile curling his lips up. “Shocker,” he deadpanned.

 

Steve laughed softly, simultaneously feeling the most overwhelming urge to cry. He took a few deep breaths and blinked rapidly until the feeling calmed down a little bit.

 

Bucky tugged Steve a little bit closer, frowning slightly. “How long have I been gone?”

 

“They didn’t tell you?” Steve asked in dull, muted surprise, because everything seemed dull and muted in comparison to the vibrant color of Bucky’s eyes.

 

“If they did, I wasn’t listening.”

 

“Only word he could say was, ‘Steve,’ until we got you in here,” Wanda said, and they both jumped a little. Steve had forgotten she was in here.

 

Bucky flushed a little bit. “Um.”

 

“Seven and a half months,” Steve blurted out.

 

Bucky whistled. “Not bad.” He gave his hand a squeeze, and Steve shoved down a wince when it ground directly against the bones of his knuckles. “You been okay?”

 

“I’ve been great,” Steve said as convincingly as he could.

 

Bucky blinked a few times. “Oh.”

 

“It’s been. Great.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Great.”

 

Wanda sighed audibly from where they were both ignoring her.

 

Bucky brought Steve’s hand closer to him, and Steve thought about the fact that they hadn’t touched this much in seventy-one years, and then he felt a little bit dizzy. “Did you figure out how to fix it?”

 

“Getting right into it, are we?” Steve asked with an eye roll that was supposed to be exasperated but was probably just fond. “We think so.”

 

Bucky’s eyes flashed with restrained hope. Steve’s heart ached. “Really?”

 

Steve nodded, and even though he didn’t know what the fuck a Valkyrie was, he knew that that meant Bucky may be able to overcome his conditioning, and that was worth forgetting everything. “We’ll explain what we’ve figured out to you, and then you can sleep on it and decide if that’s what you want to do.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky whispered.

 

They stared at each other for a long moment, eyes roving restlessly over each other’s faces. Bucky frowned and reached up to brush his fingers against the hollow under Steve’s eye, but he didn’t let go of Steve’s hand in the process, so Steve was left awkwardly half-touching his own face, but he wouldn’t have moved if there was a crisis in any place in the world.

 

“You been sleeping?” he asked, and Steve scrambled to find his train of thought.

 

“Um.”

 

“You’ve got these bags under your eyes,” Bucky went on, tracing the area of dark circles that Steve pretended to ignore every time he had the misfortune of coming face-to-face with a mirror.

 

“I’ve been busy,” Steve half-lied.

 

Bucky hummed and let their hands drop. “Tell me the solution you found?”

 

“We must make sure you are completely lucid first, Mr. Barnes,” one of the Wakandan doctors said. “I’m Dr. Hassid. We’re going to ask you a few questions.”

 

Bucky shifted his weight warily, and his eyes flicked to Steve. Steve sat on the table next to him so that their sides pressed together, and Bucky relaxed into him a little bit. “Go ahead,” he said quietly.

 

They asked Bucky a bunch of standard questions that he answered perfectly, and Steve couldn’t concentrate on any of them because Bucky was rubbing these tiny circles onto Steve’s wrist with his thumb.

 

Dr. Hassid finally cleared Bucky, and Wanda strode up to them. “Ready?”

 

Steve nodded.

 

“Alright,” Wanda said, turning to Bucky. “So, part of my powers includes the ability to manipulate people’s minds.”

 

Bucky frowned.

 

“I have not been exploring this facet of my powers for personal reasons.” She cleared her throat awkwardly, and Steve shot her an encouraging look. “But Steve and I have been investigating the idea of deprogramming your trigger words, and we think we’ve found a successful way to do it.”

 

Bucky shot Steve a look. “What d’you mean?”

 

“I mean, we’ve proved that I can make a word meaningless. However, this has some unintended consequences. It can erase memories too.”

 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, and Steve’s heart sank. Shit, Bucky was too smart for his own good. “How do you know that?”

 

“She practiced on me,” Steve said with a shrug.

 

Bucky allowed himself a small pause, in which he took a deep, collecting breath. “What words did she take?”

 

Steve laughed, and it didn’t sound very fake, which was definitely an improvement. “’Valkyrie,’ which just sounds completely made-up in the first place.”

 

Bucky fell into eerie silence, and he shot Wanda an unreadable look.

 

“He asked for it to be that word,” Wanda said.

 

“I bet he did,” Bucky said with a surprising amount of venom in his voice. “Did he forget the—ah—circumstances of the Valkyrie?”

 

Wanda looked very tired when she said, “Yes, but I fixed it.”

 

Steve’s recollection of that whole moment was hazy, so he wasn’t sure which memory was associated with “Valkyrie,” but it could be a bunch of things, and he really didn’t care. “All I know,” Steve said slowly, “is that I thought about something else during the whole thing, and that was as gone as the word was.”

 

“So,” Wanda went on. “If there are any strong memories associated with those words, they may be caught in the crossfire, and we would have no idea where to begin in finding them again. That’s the main risk here, but we don’t foresee any other complications.”

 

Bucky gave a curt nod. He was glaring at the room now, and Steve missed the tentative smile, but he had basically missed every single one of Bucky’s expressions, so the glare was sending just as much warmth through his system as a smile would.

 

“Are you hungry? Or do you just want to go to sleep?” Steve asked. “I can show you to wherever you want to go.”

 

Bucky turned his glare on Steve. “I’m tired.”

 

Wanda watched anxiously as Steve led Bucky out of the room. Sam and T’Challa were still waiting in the hallway, and Sam and Bucky exchanged dark looks of mutual hatred before Bucky turned to T’Challa. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us,” Bucky said slowly.

 

T’Challa smiled. “My pleasure. I’ve actually come to appreciate the presence of the Secret Avengers,” he said, and his voice had a note of teasing in it.

 

Bucky gave him a half-smile that looked like he’d been surprised into. “They’re not so bad,” he agreed.

 

“Not all of them,” T’Challa said with a twinkling wink, and Steve felt fucking overwhelmed.

 

As they passed them, Sam raised his eyebrows hopefully at Steve. Steve just shrugged kind of helplessly, and Sam sighed, letting his head thunk exasperatedly back onto the wall.

 

Steve nervously showed Bucky to the room across the hall from his. “I’ve been living over there, and of course you can change rooms if you want, but for now this just seemed—“

 

Bucky cut Steve off by grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him into the dark room, slamming him hard into the wall as the door shut softly behind them. Bucky scowled at him in the darkness, his face very close, and Steve faintly observed that his own face was flushing hot.

 

Which was. Interesting.

 

“You fucking let someone mess with your mind?” Bucky hissed.

 

Steve blinked. They were still on this topic? “Yeah?”

 

“I can’t fucking believe you.”

 

“Why the fuck not?”

 

Bucky shook him hard. “Fine. I can believe it, I just don’t want to. You’ve gotta find some sense of goddamn self-preservation.”

 

Steve didn’t say anything. What could he say to that?

 

“I can’t believe you fuckin’ forgot about the Valkyrie.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

Bucky ran his hand through his hair and regarded Steve speculatively, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders. “Yeah. Sorry. I just—worry.”

 

“Yeah, I know. Me too.”

 

Bucky sighed and finally flipped on the light switch. “Nice place.” He looked at Steve again, eyes sweeping his form. “You been eating? You look skinner.”

 

Steve glanced down at himself, frowning. “Yeah.”

 

“You look skinner,” he said again, drawing his shoulders up around his neck.

 

There was a pause. “You okay, Buck?”

 

Bucky let out a breath. “Yeah, I’m good. I just... Cryo was always a blessing before, right? It was the only time I could really sleep.”

 

Steve felt very nauseous all of a sudden.

 

“I didn’t mind missing these massive chunks of time. But now you look different, and it’s fucking with my head, and I think I’ve missed a lot.”

 

Steve sighed. “You really haven’t missed anything.”

 

Bucky just shook his head.

 

“Look, Bucky, I’m gonna go grab you something to eat, because you really should eat something before you go to sleep. I’ll be right back, okay?”

 

Bucky ran his hand through his hair and sat on the edge of the bed. “Okay.”

 

Steve let himself out of the room before he pressed his back against the wall by Bucky’s door and pushed a fist to his mouth to smother the sound of the tiny, pathetic sob that had finally broken free from his chest. He struggled to collect himself for a few moments, but he finally shoved the fucking feelings back down and started for the kitchen.

 

Clint was there, eating a fucking box of pizza. “Hey, man. How’s sleeping beauty?”

 

Steve scowled and reached for a pot. “I dunno. Kinda disoriented right now.”

 

“Being frozen sounds like it’s a bitch.”

 

“It is,” Steve said wryly, pouring water into the pot.

 

“What’re you making?”

 

“Some soup that Mrs. Barnes used to feed us,” Steve explained. “Since we were fuckin’ poor, it doesn’t have much in it, and I figured Bucky could probably use something easy to eat right now.”

 

“Cool,” Clint said, hopping up on the counter behind Steve and swinging his legs.

 

“You didn’t really get to talk to him much, right?” Steve asked distractedly. “I’ve always sorta thought you two would get along.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. We’ll see if I’m right, I guess.”

 

“Sam already hates him,” Clint pointed out. “Like. Legit hates him.”

 

“Yeah, he’s got his reasons.”

 

Clint huffed a little laugh. “I figure that if Prince Revenge over there could go from president of the Murder Bucky Barnes Squad to president of the Protect Bucky Barnes Squad, he’s probably a pretty likeable fella.”

 

Steve shot Clint an amused look. “Why does T’Challa get to be president?”

 

“You’re the founder, don’t worry,” Clint said, waving a dismissive hand.

 

Steve stirred some onions into the soup and finally said, “Yeah, Buck’s a likeable guy. Everyone in our entire lives loved him.”

 

“Awwwww,” Clint said, batting his eyelashes.

 

“Shut up,” Steve said without heat.

 

They dropped into silence as Steve finished making the soup and poured it into a thermos. He and Clint nodded at each other as Steve left the kitchen and headed back to Bucky’s room.

 

Bucky was sweeping the room for bugs when Steve returned. “Soup?” Steve said.

 

“Yeah, gimme a minute,” Bucky muttered.

 

Six minutes later, Bucky was sipping slowly from the thermos as Steve stood awkwardly in the space between the bed and the door. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll just be—uh—right across the hall if you need anything. Sometimes I’m not, though. Then you can just text me or something. I may not... respond right away, but...”

 

Bucky was looking at him with something like tired fondness. “I’ll be able to find you if I want to.”

 

Steve nodded rapidly. “Right. Um. Well. You get some sleep. I’ll be...”

 

“Around?” Bucky finished.

 

“Around.”

 

Steve let himself out of Bucky’s room and found himself standing in the gym again. Scott was jogging on the treadmill, and he shot Steve a tentative smile. “Hey.”

 

“Hi,” Steve said, unwrapping the gauze from his knuckles, which were definitely not healed yet, but what difference would a little more damage make?

 

Scott glanced at Steve’s hands and cringed. “Yiiiikes, bro.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s called being hard-core.”

 

“I’m hard-core,” Scott protested. “I went to _prison_ once. I’m just not a masochist.”

 

Steve flexed his fingers and wondered if he was a masochist. Probably. He stepped up to his punching bag and rolled his shoulders before letting a fist fly. It hurt like hell immediately, probably more than it’d ever hurt before, but Steve just internalized the feeling as his fists fell into a rhythm.

 

When he finally came back to himself, a scary amount of skin had been peeled away from his knuckles and fingers. It fucking hurt, and Steve fumbled with the roll of gauze, trying not to get his blood all over it and probably failing as he wound the roll around the worst of the damage. Then, he remembered Bucky was awake and wound it around all the damage. There was no need for Bucky to really know about this right now.

 

Scott walked over to him, a little sweaty, and wordlessly helped Steve cut the end of the gauze. “Looks good, Cap. Almost like you actually care about yourself.”

 

“I resent that,” Steve said.

 

Scott winked at him. “I can talk the talk, man. I’ve been to _prison_.”

 

“So you’ve said,” Steve said wryly.

 

“You may wanna wash off the blood before your assassin boyfriend sees it,” Scott added, gesturing to Steve’s hands.

 

Steve frowned. “He’s not my...”

 

Scott arched an eyebrow, looking incredibly bemused.

 

Steve cleared his throat. “Anyway.”

 

“Anyway,” Scott echoed, smirking.

 

Steve’s phone started buzzing, and he fumbled to pick it up. The weight pressed against his fingers, and Steve had to blink back a few tears of pain as he answered the phone. “Yeah?”

 

“Hey, Steve,” Natasha said. “Just checkin’ in.”

 

Steve immediately brightened. “Hey, Nat. We’ve missed you.”

 

“I know,” she said with an exaggeratedly vain sigh. Steve was startled into a little laugh. “How are things with the Secret Avengers? Which I know nothing about.”

 

Steve laughed again, missing Natasha with an ache in his chest. “Fine. Buck woke up today.”

 

“How’re you feeling about that?”

 

Steve shrugged even though she couldn’t see him. “We’ll see in the morning.”

 

“Cool,” Natasha said, evidently sensing that Steve really did not want to talk about Bucky. “Hey, listen, I’ve got this lead on a case, and I kinda want you to go on this mission with me.”

 

Steve straightened with interest. “Yeah?” he said, trying not to sound breathlessly hopeful. It’d been a long month, with barely any action.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’d love to. Just send me the details, and I’ll be there.”

 

“Great,” Natasha said, sounding pleased. “It’ll be fun. Just like old times.”

 

Steve felt those words like a slap to the face, and he dropped into silence for a few minutes. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

 

Natasha sighed. “Don’t be. It’s not gonna be like this forever, anyway. It’ll get better.”

 

This concept of a future “better” was gonna drive Steve insane one day. For now, he didn’t bring it up. “Alright. Send me the details.”

 

“Will do, Steve. I’ll see you soon.”

 

“Bye, Nat.”

 

“Nat out.” The line disconnected.

 

“The Black Widow?” Scott asked.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, vaguely amused that Scott still sometimes needed to refer to them by their titles.

 

“You’re like, BFFLs, right?”

 

Steve smiled a little bit. “Me and Nat? Totally. Eternal BFFLs.”

 

Scott giggled, and Steve decided that he liked him. Which was kind of a weird thing to decide after seven and a half months of knowing a person, but whatever.

 

Steve got an encrypted text that he deciphered quickly with the code that he and Natasha had made up in DC, consisting of a lot of emojis and numbers. Steve smiled. Natasha was going on a mission in Norway, which apparently held a number of active Hydra bases. Steve wondered if the Hydra threat would ever go away, and then, with a jolt, wondered if he _wanted_ the Hydra threat to go away.

 

What else would he take his anger out on if Hydra was gone?

 

Steve shoved the thought to the back of his mind. Of course he wanted Hydra gone.

 

“I’m gonna go shower,” Steve said.

 

“Alrighty, Cap’n,” Scott said with a really theatrical salute. Steve snorted, and Scott looked kind of delighted at the sound.

 

Steve left for the showers and spent fifteen minutes roughly scrubbing the blood off his hands before he actually got in.

 

Fuck, his hands hurt.

 

Steve reminded himself that he wanted them to hurt and did his best to soak in the sensation as he finished up his shower.

 

Bucky wandered into the room as Steve stepped into his jeans. Bucky froze and quickly looked away. “Oh. Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Steve said, surreptitiously checking his hands to make sure Bucky wouldn’t be able to see anything. He wouldn’t.

 

Bucky cleared his throat. “I can’t sleep.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said, slipping on his shirt. Bucky chanced a look at him and relaxed when he saw that Steve was fully clothed. “Wanna play a card game or something?”

 

“Sure,” Bucky said.

 

They walked to the room that Steve had started to think of as the Secret Avengers Clubhouse, Steve’s shoulder bumping against what was left of Bucky’s metal one.

 

Sam and T’Challa were inside, and Sam was laughing at something T’Challa had said while T’Challa looked at him with this soft expression that made Steve pause.

 

But Sam glanced back at them and shouted, “STEVE! Hey, man! I missed you.”

 

Steve smiled. “I was gone for, like, two hours.”

 

“I missed you,” Sam repeated. “C’mere. I was gonna show King Kit-Kat over here some great American movies.”

 

“Like?”

 

“ _Sharkboy and Lavagirl_ ,” Sam announced, fiddling with a remote.

 

“Tony showed that to me. It was weird,” Steve said, and then dropped immediately into a gloomy silence.

 

Bucky reached around with his arm to grab Steve’s bicep and steer him over to the coffee table. “Cards,” he said.

 

Steve blinked a few times. “Cards.”

 

Wanda and Clint walked inside and both brightened when they saw Steve dealing out cards. Steve was focusing intently on not showing how much it hurt every time he moved his fingers, so he didn’t react much as they joined him and Bucky. “Can we play?” Wanda asked.

 

“You don’t even know what we’re playing.”

 

“You only know how to play poker and blackjack,” Wanda pointed out.

 

“Go-fish,” Steve said. “I can play go-fish too.”

 

“Let’s play BS,” Clint said.

 

“What’s that?” Bucky asked curiously.

 

Clint gave him a quick, evaluating glance that anyone might miss. “It’s pretty easy. I taught Wanda—here, we’ll do a demonstration.”

 

Clint and Wanda took turns explaining the game, and Steve listened in resignation. It was a game based off your ability to bullshit, which was decidedly _not_ Steve’s strong suit. The object was to get rid of all your cards or something, and Steve knew he was going to absolutely suck at it. But Bucky looked intrigued, so they started playing.

 

“Two Jacks,” Wanda announced confidently, placing two cards facedown on the table.

 

Clint narrowed his eyes at her, but nobody said anything, so Steve readied his cards with some trepidation. “One Queen,” he said, putting a Ten facedown on the pile.

 

“Bullshit,” Bucky said immediately. Steve reached for the pile of cards and added them to his personal deck. “One King,” Bucky said, putting a card down.

 

“Bullshit,” Steve said, a little bit grouchily.

 

Bucky smiled at him and picked up the card to show that it was indeed a King. Steve added it to his own pile.

 

Clint won the game, even though Bucky and Wanda were close on his heels. Steve finished the game with probably three-quarters of the deck in his hands, glaring at the table.

 

“Another round?” Clint asked cheerfully.

 

Wanda and Bucky nodded while Steve just sighed. T’Challa and Sam paused their movie to come join the game, and they were met with happy cheers on behalf of Wanda.

 

“Wait, lemme text Tic-Tac. Gotta make sure he doesn’t feel left out,” Sam announced, and five minutes later, Scott was joining the game.

 

At least Steve wasn’t the only one who sucked anymore. Sam’s face was so laughably readable to Steve that he could always call him on his bullshit moves, so he and Steve were left with their large decks of cards while everyone else actually competed.

 

It got to the point where Sam and Bucky would say, “Bullshit,” in unison every time Steve threw down a bullshit card. Even though they glared at each other, Steve could tell they were both having fun.

 

T’Challa won the game in a land slide because he had a poker face to kill for, and his turn was always right after Sam’s, and Sam always got the large deck of cards in the middle right before T’Challa, which meant that even if someone could call T’Challa out successfully, he’d only get one card back in his deck.

 

At the end of the round, Steve threw down his deck. “I’m done.”

 

Everyone booed, but nobody paid him much attention as he left the room. He found himself back in his bedroom, staring blankly at his lap. Eventually, he unwound the gauze from his hands to check the progress of the healing, but he could still see his bones. Steve burrowed under his covers and pretended to consider sleeping.

 

He read through the information Natasha had sent him again. He’d get to kick some Hydra ass with her at his side in a week, which Steve was just blessedly thankful for. He needed something tangible to hit, or else all the skin on his hands was going to peel off, and how would he hide that?

 

He must’ve dozed off at some point because he jolted awake when the door opened, gasping for breath and sweating as a nightmare faded from his grasp.

 

“Oh, hey man, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Sam said. “Was just coming to check on you.”

 

Steve took a minute to calm his breathing. “’M good,” he finally croaked.

 

Sam caught sight of Steve’s hand when he rubbed it over his face and startled in alarm. “Shit.” He shut the door behind him and moved to grab Steve’s wrists, examining the exposed bone of the knuckles that hadn’t been sealed up yet. “Again?”

 

Steve gave Sam a dark look. “Would you rather I take it out on you guys?”

 

“Almost, yeah,” Sam said faintly. “You played cards with this. I didn’t even think about the bandages.”

 

“God, Sam, you’re not allowed to blame yourself for any of this. This is just how I’m dealing with everything, okay?”

 

“None of your ways of dealing with things are even remotely healthy,” Sam said.

 

“I’ll get better eventually.”

 

“Better,” Sam scoffed. “When?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

They both watched Steve’s bloody knuckles for a few moments. “If Barnes sees this,” Sam started lowly.

 

“I know,” Steve said tightly. “I know.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“I’m going on a mission with Nat next week,” Steve blurted out. “So, it’ll probably ease up a little bit after that.”

 

“Okay,” Sam said in resignation. “Hey, Steve?”

 

“Yeah, Sammy?”

 

“You let me know when you’re ready to start actually getting better.”

 

“I’m—I’m fine—“

 

“ _Steve_.”

 

Steve looked from his knuckles to Sam’s face. He was so fucking tired of lying, even though he was just trying to protect everyone. “Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

 

“Good.”

 

They sat in silence for a while. “Did Bucky go to sleep?”

 

Sam wrinkled his nose at the mention of Bucky. “Yeah. He was pretty tired after we were done playing BS.”

 

“Good. Good.”

 

“Did you guys talk yet?”

 

Steve glared at their hands. “What’s there to talk about?”

 

“Dude, don’t fuckin’ play dumb.”

 

“We don’t talk,” Steve snapped. “We just _don’t_.”

 

“Not even in Brooklyn?” Sam demanded.

 

“Not really,” Steve said. “We talked about dancing and money and the war and politics and religion and assholes. Not about anything _real_ , though. We couldn’t afford to talk about anything real.”

 

Sam was looking at him carefully. “Why not?”

 

“I don’t think we’d ever be able to walk back from a conversation like that.”

 

“Afraid of what you’d say?”

 

“How could I _not_ be?” Steve said, a little bit desperately.

 

Sam was getting that guarded, careful expression. “There’s a lot of emotion between the two of you,” he said slowly.

 

Steve laughed humorlessly, and the sound was kind of scary in the quiet of his bedroom. “That’s one way to put it.”

 

“Have you ever thought about those emotions for more than five seconds?”

 

Ohhh, they were certainly treading into dangerous territory here. Steve felt his expression shut down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Why do you do all this for him?” Sam continued quietly. “I know you love _me_ , but you wouldn’t almost kill Tony Stark for me.”

 

“You so sure about that?” Steve snarled, feeling the anger start to rise to the surface even as a distant part of him begged, _No, don’t take it out on Sam, please_.

 

“Would you start a war for me?” Sam continued mercilessly.

 

“I started a war for a lot of reasons—“

 

“Would you give up Captain America for me?”

 

“SHUT UP!” Steve finally shouted, lurching to his feet, seething with rage. “You think I don’t know how fucked up all of this is? You think I’m unaware of the dangerous codependency? You think—you think I don’t ever regret dropping that fucking _shield_?”

 

Sam blinked a few times in surprise.

 

“I know, Sam. I know it’s all fucked up, and I know I can’t even find the strength to be a fucking person without Bucky, and I know how fucked up that is. But I can’t stop it. I tried—I fucking tried. I tried for seven and half fucking months to be Steve Rogers instead of Captain Fucking America, and nothing fucking works!”

 

“You’re a person,” Sam said quietly.

 

“I’m _not_.” Steve glowered at the room and clenched his fists a few times. “I need to go to the gym,” he muttered, trying to get a handle on his anger and failing.

 

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

 

“That’s the fucking point, Sam.”

 

Steve stalked out of the room and didn’t look behind him, but he knew Sam would follow him to the gym in a few minutes anyway because he was noble and caring like that.

 

Steve was at the punching bag for a good forty-five minutes before Sam whispered, “You may want to try the treadmill instead. Less destructive.”

 

Steve bit down the words that wanted to burble up: _That’s why I don’t use it as much._

 

Steve paused and looked at his hands. He took a moment to feel the pain and pressed his forehead against the bloody punching bag. He didn’t know anymore if it was sweat or tears dripping down his face, but what did it even matter anymore?

 

Sam was rubbing his hand up and down Steve’s spine while Steve quietly fell apart.

 

“Help me wrap them,” Steve finally said, his voice raw and quiet and so fucking vulnerable that he wanted to never speak again.

 

“Yeah,” Sam whispered, reaching for the gauze and antiseptic.

 

Steve looked like he was wearing ugly gloves when Sam was done, but neither of them had to look at the horrific bloody mess of his hands anymore, so they didn’t care.

 

They sat in somber silence for a while until Steve whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

 

“Dude, you can yell at me all you want.”

 

Steve shook his head.

 

“I’d rather you yell at me than hurt yourself,” Sam insisted.

 

“It’s so much safer this way,” Steve reminded Sam gently. “I had to—I had to stop myself from _killing_ Tony the last time I—the last time I lost my temper.” Steve swallowed with some difficulty. “I don’t want you to be next, Sammy.”

 

Sam pulled Steve into a hug, and Steve felt himself go boneless into it. He collapsed his weight completely into Sam, and Sam gave a surprised huff but didn’t say anything.

 

That was how Wanda found them twenty minutes later. “I thought I’d find you here. We’ve been looking for you.”

 

Steve forced himself to sit up straight and numbly noted that Bucky was standing behind her, glaring at Sam with a passion.

 

Steve cleared his throat, praying he didn’t look as wrecked as he felt. “You made a decision?” he asked Bucky.

 

Bucky’s gaze shifted to him, and his expression softened. “Yeah. I want to do it.”

 

“Even though you may forget some things?” Steve said uneasily.

 

“It’s worth it,” Bucky said stubbornly. “I never want to hurt anybody again.”

 

Steve nodded a few times and pushed himself to his feet. Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the bloody bandages on Steve’s hands, then over to the bloodstained punching bag. His expression crumpled a little bit. “Oh, Stevie.”

 

Steve made sure his expression was blank as he shoved his hands into his pockets, ignoring the scream of pain that wanted to accompany the movement. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

Sam took a deep breath, and they all trooped out of the gym. Bucky was watching him with this unfairly devastated expression, and he fell into step beside Steve as they walked back to the room containing Bucky’s cryochamber. “Your hands...?”

 

“They’re fine,” Steve said lightly. “Just a little roughed up.”

 

Bucky definitely wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t say anything, which was such a relief that Steve felt dizzy.

 

Sam put a hand on his shoulder as they watched Bucky sit on a cot. Wanda explained some things to him in a low voice, and Steve took a moment to make sure his breathing was even.

 

“We’re gonna get better,” Sam said quietly, almost to himself, and Steve had never hated a word more than he hated the word “better.” Maybe he’d ask Wanda to erase that word too.

 

“Sam,” Wanda called, and Steve and Sam both approached. “You’re on me-duty. Knock me out if anything goes wrong. Steve.” Wanda nodded in Bucky’s direction, and Steve sat down next to him.

 

“Hey,” Steve said.

 

“Hey.”

 

“You okay?”

 

“A little nervous.”

 

Steve swallowed roughly. “We’re gonna get you better.”

 

Bucky nodded a few times. He looked distant and shuttered and alone, and Steve literally could not stand to watch that, so he carefully slung his arm across Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky looked at him in surprise. “This okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed before leaning more heavily into Steve’s side. His metal shoulder pressed hard against Steve’s ribs, but Steve could literally care less.

 

Wanda looked at him carefully. “Ready?”

 

Bucky nodded.

 

Wanda twisted her hands, and the red wisps flew at Bucky’s head almost gently.

 

Bucky started to shiver almost immediately, and Steve wrapped his other arm around him, pulling him close to try and offer some body heat or something in case he was actually cold. Wanda’s eyes were wide and glazed as she poked around Bucky’s head, but she started to wince.

 

Sam was looking at her carefully, trying to determine if she was actually distressed. Steve felt a spike of worry, and then Bucky shivered harder, a little whimper burbling past his lips, and all thoughts faded from his head. Steve brushed a strand of Bucky’s hair out of his face and prayed that this was gonna help. This was gonna help them all get better.

 

Wanda suddenly dropped her hands, and she and Bucky broke from her hold with twin gasps. Bucky curled into Steve’s chest, his hand coming up to fist in the fabric of his shirt. Steve held him tightly.

 

“You okay?”

 

Bucky muttered something in Russian that Steve didn’t catch, but Wanda seemed to understand, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said.

 

“I’m okay,” Bucky finally said.

 

“Do you know what желание means?”

 

Bucky paused before shaking his head slowly, and the room let out a breath of relief.

 

Wanda ran a shaking hand through her hair as Steve started running his bandaged hand up and down Bucky’s back. “There are ten words,” Wanda finally said. “But that isn’t the full extent of his conditioning. There’s more.”

 

Of course there was.

 

Wanda looked like she was gonna burst into tears. “I don’t think I can deprogram it all.”

 

Steve’s heart sank before he could even fully comprehend the words, and Bucky pulled back to look at him. “Don’t,” he warned.

 

Steve bowed his head, struggling desperately to shove the tears down. “You—you—you’re—“

 

Bucky made a hushing noise and brought his hand to grab Steve’s cheek. “We’re gonna be okay.”

 

“You’re gonna go back in,” Steve said numbly. “It’s never gonna end.”

 

Bucky shook his head, leaning down to try and catch Steve’s eye, but Steve didn’t give him that luxury. “Stevie, c’mon. There’s gonna be an end some day.”

 

“It’s never gonna end,” Steve said again, and this time his voice cracked pathetically.

 

“Steve, listen to me. Hey, honey, c’mon, listen to me.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut, and Bucky forced him to tip his chin up. When Steve opened his eyes, Bucky was looking at him intently. “We’re gonna fix what we can now, and that’s all we can ask for, okay?”

 

Steve couldn’t find his voice, so he just nodded shakily.

 

“I’m gonna go back into cryo, you’re gonna find a way to make this work for us, and we’re gonna find a place in the middle-of-fucking-nowhere to die in peace. Okay?”

 

Steve closed his eyes and managed another tiny nod.

 

“And I’m not going back under right away,” Bucky continued. “Wanda and I will both need breaks between each word. And then Wanda will have to figure out what else we need to fix. Okay? I’m not going back under right away. I’m here for now.”

 

“Okay,” Steve choked out.

 

“Wanda, c’mon, I think they need a minute,” Sam said softly.

 

“I—okay,” Wanda said, and Steve distantly noted they were leaving the room.

 

Steve slumped forward, and Bucky grunted with the added weight. He maneuvered them around so that they were lying on the cot face-to-face, Bucky’s hand resting on Steve’s waist, Steve’s hands cradled between their chests.

 

“We’ll be okay,” Bucky was murmuring. “We’re gonna be okay.”

 

“I missed you,” Steve gasped. “So much.” He was not going to cry. He absolutely was _not_ going to allow himself to cry. He wasn’t going to be that fucking selfish.

 

Bucky made a pained noise. “I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m not safe. You _know_ I’m not.”

 

Steve said nothing.

 

Bucky moved his hand from Steve’s waist to his jaw. “I’m trying to protect you, okay? You above everything else.”

 

Steve closed his eyes and managed, “You remember that one time I almost threw myself off a cliff?”

 

Bucky froze. “I—“

 

“When are you gonna realize that I’m so much safer with you than I could ever be without you?”

 

“Steve,” Bucky said, voice breaking.

 

Steve shook his head. “Sorry. I’m being an idiot. I’m being selfish. I—of course I’ll respect your choices.”

 

“Steve, don’t be an asshole. You’re allowed to be a selfish idiot.”

 

Steve just shook his head again.

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” Steve insisted, and what the fuck, a tear slipped down his face, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. “Living sucks. It’s so fucking difficult.”

 

Fear flashed across Bucky’s expression, and Steve felt guilty again. “You—“ Bucky tried, but Steve cut him off.

 

“I wondered if you’d even want to be out of cryo when we finally figured out how to completely decondition you. I honestly wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to stay frozen forever. That’d be _so_ much easier.”

 

Bucky made a low, growling noise in the back of his throat. “You know I won’t do that.”

 

“Maybe that’s what _I’d_ do, then. Maybe I’m projecting. I’m sorry.”

 

They were quiet for a few moments, and Bucky pretended not to notice that Steve was still crying a little bit. Bucky grabbed Steve’s wrist and pressed a bandaged hand against his own heart. Steve felt the dull thumps of the evidence that Bucky was fucking alive—a goddamn fucking miracle facing him right now—and Steve relaxed a little bit.

 

“You always dove head-first into every single fight you’ve ever been faced with,” Bucky said in this quiet, gentle voice. “This whole thing? This is a fight too. It just involves less punching.”

 

Steve frowned. “I’m still punching.”

 

“Clearly,” Bucky said with a dark look, running his thumb across the gauze. “Point is, fighting is easier to us than breathing. We’ve just gotta... keep fighting. Okay?”

 

Steve nodded even as he whispered, “I’m tried, Buck.”

 

“This is the last one. We’ll go somewhere no one can find us after this. We’ll finally be able to rest, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. He leaned forward and pressed his face against Bucky’s neck, taking a few shuddering breaths. “If it ever ends.”

 

Bucky wound his arm snugly around Steve’s back to pull him closer. “It’ll end. It _has_ to end.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam found them like that.

 

Steve couldn’t find the motivation to unplaster himself from Bucky’s chest, and Bucky didn’t seem very intent on moving any time soon either, so there they were. Fucking snuggled against each other as Sam walked into the room with the most obnoxiously deadpan eyebrow raise Steve had ever seen.

 

Steve scowled at him and snuggled against Bucky even more aggressively than before.

 

“You good?” Sam asked him warily.

 

“We’re good,” Steve said.

 

“You guys missed lunch. We’re all hanging out in the clubhouse room, in case you’re looking for us. Except Kit-Kat. He has actual kingly responsibilities right now.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said.

 

Sam gave Steve a hard, questioning look that Steve couldn’t even begin to decipher. Steve made a face at him, and Sam rolled his eyes before hesitantly leaving the room.

 

“They’re monitoring us,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s neck. “To make sure neither of us snaps.”

 

Steve nodded. “They’re always monitoring us.”

 

Bucky pulled back to look at him. “They’ve been monitoring you this whole time?”

 

Steve shrugged a little bit. “To make sure I don’t snap,” he said bitterly.

 

“ _Have_ you snapped?”

 

Steve frowned at the question. “I—I don’t know.”

 

Bucky closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face as he leaned forward to press their foreheads together. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut instantly.

 

“How long do you think we have until you’re gonna go back—um—under?” Steve asked after a while.

 

“Two weeks?” Bucky guessed.

 

Steve’s chest went all tight, and he struggled to keep his breathing even. He brought two fingers up to feel the pulse at Bucky’s jugular, almost without thinking, because that’s what Sam had him do when he was having a panic attack or on the brink of one.

 

Bucky went very still as Steve concentrated on his pulse. After several minutes, Steve went boneless with exhaustion and muttered, “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t,” Bucky warned. “I know you hate it.”

 

Steve shifted uneasily. “I—“

 

“You’re fucking allowed to hate it, Stevie.”

 

“I just want you to be able to make your own choices,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky sighed. “Stop it.”

 

“Stop what?” Steve said, a little bit more defensive than he meant.

 

“You’re putting up a front again.”

 

“Maybe all that’s left of me is a goddamn front,” Steve snapped.

 

“That’s not true.”

 

“You don’t know me anymore. How could you know if it’s true or not?”

 

Bucky actually flinched. He looked very angry and very intense when he whispered, “I know you.”

 

Steve felt the guilt eating at him again, but he wasn’t capable of budging on this one. “It’s alright,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle this time. “I don’t know me anymore either.”

 

“Stevie,” Bucky sighed. “I know we’ve both changed so fucking much, but we’re both still us. At our cores.”

 

Steve closed his eyes. “Whatever.”

 

Bucky pulled Steve closer again. “We’re gonna get better.”

 

Steve clenched his jaw. “If someone says that to me again, I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.”

 

Bucky dropped off into silence, and Steve could tell he felt guilty, even though there was literally no way he could’ve known how much Steve had come to hate the concept of Better.

 

Steve was stewing in his anger for such a long time that he didn’t notice when Bucky fell asleep. He just knew that one moment, Bucky was clutching at the fabric of his shirt, and the next, he was all dead weight into Steve’s chest.

 

Steve tried not to move. Bucky deserved sleep more than anyone else in the entire world.

 

But then Bucky’s breathing started to quicken in his sleep. Steve felt a sense of dread settle into his chest, and then Bucky whimpered a little bit, and Steve wanted to murder every single Hydra bastard that had ever even looked at him.

 

Bucky woke with a stuttering gasp, shoving Steve away hard. Steve immediately scrambled off the cot as Bucky’s chest heaved with ragged breaths, and Steve clenched his fists, trying not to see red as Bucky wound his arm around his torso, as if he was trying to hold himself together.

 

“Sorry,” he finally croaked.

 

Steve dropped to his knees in front of where Bucky was sitting with his legs off the side of the cot. Bucky looked at him in surprise through his hair. “Don’t ever apologize for nightmares, okay?”

 

Bucky winced.

 

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve asked, already knowing the answer before Bucky even shook his head.

 

Bucky had this grave, haunted expression etched into the lines of his face. God, how old was he really? He certainly wasn’t ninety-nine, although he sure looked like he could be with all the distance in his eyes.

 

Steve was thirty-two, if they tried to keep time biologically. How old was Bucky?

 

“Want me to leave you alone?” Steve asked after a few moments of Bucky staring blankly at the ground.

 

Bucky looked at him sharply, and was that panic in his gaze? “ _No_.”

 

Steve nodded a few times. “Tell me what you want me to do, then.”

 

Bucky didn’t say anything this time. He just grabbed Steve’s shoulder and dragged him closer so that Steve was leaning against Bucky’s legs. Bucky put his hand in Steve’s hair and started carding his fingers through it.

 

Steve would’ve liked to say that he remained very dignified and collected, but instead he melted against the touch, collapsing his weight almost entirely against Bucky’s legs. Bucky made a distant sound of approval.

 

They were still sitting like this when Scott poked his head into the room and said, “Dinner in the clubhouse room if you guys are hungry.”

 

Bucky’s stomach made a noise, and they reluctantly got to their feet. “Coming,” Steve said.

 

“How’re your hands?” Bucky asked as they walked to the clubhouse room.

 

They still hurt like fucking hell, but Bucky didn’t have to know that. “Fine. Should be healed in a couple’a days.”

 

“You never hurt yourself like this back in the old days, right?” Bucky asked hesitantly, eyebrows pulling together with uncertainty.

 

Steve felt his heart break a little bit more. “Um. Would you count the fights?”

 

Bucky sighed tiredly. “Fine.”

 

In the clubhouse room, the Secret Avengers (minus T’Challa) were fighting over who got to pick the first piece of steak. Bucky and Steve joined them silently, and for once, Steve was so fucking relieved to be politely ignored.

 

Steve mostly zoned out as he poked at his food, not very hungry. He did take mild note that Bucky and Wanda seemed to be holding a conversation, which was nice. But he could also feel the beginnings of that intense apathy crawling through his veins, and he could only think, _Not now_ , with removed dread.

 

He didn’t necessarily remember leaving the clubhouse room, but he knew he must’ve quietly excused himself, because then he was back in his room, staring blankly at the lack of personality in the design.

 

He woke up sometime later and knew it was another one of those fucking days where all he could do was lie there and soak in his own self-hatred.

 

Which was absolutely fucking _fantastic_.

 

But he couldn’t even bring himself to feel his annoyance. He was as terrifyingly blank as he’d ever been when he got like this.

 

Of course, Sam opened the door at some point, saying, “Barnes says he’s ready to erase another word,” but he immediately trailed off. “Ah, shit.”

 

He sat down on the other side of Steve’s mattress, and Steve blinked slowly at him.

 

“Another one of those days?” Sam asked quietly, a furrow of deep worry in his forehead.

 

“Yes,” Steve said, and at least today he had the energy to speak, which was a huge plus.

 

Sam bit his lip briefly. “What should I tell Barnes?”

 

“Whatever you want,” Steve mumbled.

 

Sam sighed. “Look, I know you can’t care about anything right now, but you’re gonna care later, so _really_ think about this one. What do you want me to tell him?”

 

“I don’t care,” Steve muttered, feeling a muted twinge of irritation.

 

Sam sighed again. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Put all the pressure on Sam, why don’t we?”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Nah, don’t be. I’ll—uh—figure something out.”

 

Before Sam could even think about anything for a minute, there was a tentative knock on the door. “Stevie?” Bucky said quietly.

 

“Yeah?” Steve managed, his voice a rasp.

 

Bucky took that as an invitation to open the door, and he instantly narrowed his eyes at Sam. “Oh. Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Sam said with the same wary gaze.

 

Bucky turned his attention to Steve, and his frown deepened. “Are you sick?” he asked, eyebrows pulling together as he crouched by Steve’s bedside, pressing his hand to Steve’s forehead.

 

“No,” Steve said.

 

He turned his head to press his face into his pillow, but Bucky gently turned his head back. “Don’t want you to suffocate,” he explained with forced nonchalance. He looked at Sam, his eyes hardening into defensiveness. “What’s up with him?”

 

Sam looked at Steve guiltily. “This just... happens sometimes,” he said hesitantly.

 

Bucky offered Sam a very unimpressed eyebrow raise. “ _What_ happens?”

 

Sam shot Steve another uncertain look, and a really distant part of him felt really bad about this, but Steve just _couldn’t_ right now. “He just. Runs out of energy.”

 

Bucky was scowling now. “He’s a super soldier. He can’t run out of energy unless he doesn’t eat.”

 

“Well,” Sam said, gesturing at Steve’s prone form.

 

Bucky rose from his haunches with the kind of grace that would make Steve dizzy if he could actually feel anything. He glared at Sam with such venom that it should’ve looked absolutely terrifying. “How long has this been going on?” he asked, voice low and monotone.

 

Sam shifted uncomfortably into a defensive pose, but he held his own glare, which was impressive in itself. “We’re not sure. Most likely as long as he’s been defrosted, but it’s definitely gotten worse.”

 

Bucky made a low, growling noise, and a humorless smile twisted cruelly at his lips. “It’s gotten worse since he dropped the shield?”

 

Sam swallowed visibly. “Yes.”

 

They glared at each other from opposite sides of Steve’s bed, and Steve wondered if they were going to hit each other.

 

“We’ve been trying to get him to see that it’s unhealthy,” Sam added, like an afterthought.

 

Bucky gave Sam an incredulous look and threw out his arm. “You think he doesn’t know?”

 

Sam frowned. “What?”

 

Bucky gave a sharp, bitter laugh that Steve hated with a passion. “Steve is a smart fucking guy. He _knows_ he’s fucked up.”

 

Sam was blinking rapidly. “He denies _everything_.”

 

“I _know_ ,” Bucky hissed, raking his hand angrily through his hair. “That doesn’t mean he’s not self-aware.”

 

“What?”

 

Bucky scoffed cruelly. “Alright, think of it this way: Steve gets shot in the gut during a battle.”

 

Sam made a surprised, wounded noise.

 

“Steve doesn’t tell anyone he’s been shot, even though he’s literally bleeding out and dying. He says, ‘Oh, that’s someone else’s blood,’ when you point it out, even though he’s very fucking aware that he’s about to die. You know why he lies to everyone about it? Because he doesn’t want to be _selfish_. He thinks a bullet in the gut is worthless in comparison to the battle. He doesn’t want to _hurt_ anyone and unload the knowledge that he’s _literally bleeding out_ because he wants to _protect_ everyone else.”

 

Sam shot Steve a kind of horrified look, and Steve filed that away for his Things To Feel Bad About Later list.

 

“He knows,” Bucky went on. “He just doesn’t want to fucking bleed on anyone else.”

 

“That’s...” Sam trailed off, staring at Steve in shock, like he’d never even considered that possibility.

 

“What he does,” Bucky finished with this awful sneer. “I’ve seen it since we were fucking children.”

 

“We’ve been going about this all wrong,” Sam said with mounting panic, his breath starting to quicken. “Fuck, we’ve been _letting_ this happen.”

 

Bucky suddenly looked a little bit guilty. “There’s, um. No way you could’ve. Known. I guess.”

 

Sam hugged his arms around himself, shaking his head rapidly. “This is my fault. God, this is _my_ goddamn fault.”

 

Bucky shot Steve a look of such wide-eyed alarm that Steve felt a twinge of panic. That on top of Sam’s growing panic was enough to make Steve sit up slowly and reach for Sam’s wrist. He pressed Sam’s fingers to his own pulse point, and Sam choked on his next breath, but he brought his other hand to twist into the fabric of Steve’s shirt. He bowed his head, trying to shrink into himself.

 

“I’m sorry,” he was gasping. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry.”

 

Steve could feel Bucky awkwardly hovering in the background, and Sam was still breathing raggedly, and Bucky had finally exposed what he was trying to do to fucking protect everyone he loved, and he was spiraling out of control, but he couldn’t even feel bad about it because he couldn’t fucking feel anything.

 

Sam eventually calmed himself down before he could devolve into a full-blown panic attack, but he was still exhausted with the strength that required and slumped down next to Steve on the bed, blinking at the ceiling in removed shock.

 

Bucky was still hovering. “Are you. Okay?” he said in a stilted voice.

 

Sam gave a hysterical laugh, throwing his elbow over his eyes. “No.” He started muttering to himself, probably not realizing that he was thinking aloud, “First fucking Riley, then fucking Rhodey, and now fucking Steve. Fuck everything. I can’t save anyone. I shouldn’t be a part of even the Secret Fucking Avengers.”

 

“Sammy,” Steve muttered tiredly.

 

Sam just shook his head again.

 

“Me,” Bucky blurted out, and Steve and Sam both looked at him. Bucky was hunching within himself, his hair hiding his face. “You, uh. Saved. Me. And Steve. During the—the airport fight.”

 

“Like that matters?” Sam asked incredulously. “You just ended up back in the ice and Steve just ended up _this_.”

 

“Better here than dead, though,” Bucky muttered darkly.

 

“Better here than prison,” Steve added, feeling numbly satisfied with his contribution to the conversation.

 

Sam curled over so that his back was to both of them. “I hate you so fucking much,” he whispered.

 

“I hate you too,” Bucky said hastily, re-establishing his venomous scowl. But Steve scanned his face with a practiced gaze and saw the flicker of worry in his eyes. Steve didn’t smile to himself, but his lips did twitch for a second.

 

There was a heavy silence.

 

“So, what do you do when Steve gets... like this?” Bucky finally asked.

 

Sam huffed, not turning over. “Nothing. Just keep him company. Don’t want him to be alone.”

 

Bucky swallowed roughly. “I’m glad. He has. You,” he ground out like it physically pained him.

 

Sam turned over to give Bucky a surprised look.

 

“I’m not ever saying it again,” Bucky spat.

 

“Okay,” Sam said numbly.

 

Bucky walked over and eyed the space on bed where Steve’s feet were. He curled in a comma around Steve’s feet and stayed breathtakingly still.

 

Steve moved his foot a little bit to tap Bucky’s nose with his big toe. Bucky wrinkled his nose, but his eyes had gone soft.

 

The three of them dissolved into silence, and Steve let his eyes slide shut. Listening to Sam and Bucky argue was a fucking nightmare.

 

He woke up with a sleeping Bucky half-sprawled over his legs and a sleeping Sam’s head pillowed on his bicep, trapping his arm underneath him.

 

It wasn’t comfortable at all, but Steve wouldn’t move for the world.

 

The warmth in his chest kept the horrific numbness from dissolving his heart.

 


	2. How To Repair Broken Bonds, A Charming (Horrible), Quick (Painstaking) Guide By Steven G. Rogers

Steve and Bucky were wandering through the haven, trying to find Wanda for another session, when Steve’s phone started to buzz.

 

Steve picked up, pausing in the hallway and leaning against the nearest wall. Bucky gave him a halfheartedly annoyed look and stopped next to him. “Hello?”

 

“You have to hide right now,” T’Challa whispered lowly over the line.

 

Steve frowned. “What? Why?”

 

“Tony Stark is here for a surprise visit, and we’re arriving at the palace in less than an hour.”

 

Steve froze at the words, and Bucky automatically tensed at his side. “How long is he staying?” Steve asked tightly.

 

“I will try to ensure his visit is brief. Regardless of whether or not it is, I will ensure you are all accommodated in your hiding places until he is gone.”

 

“You already called all the others?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _Cos_ ,” Steve said, letting out a breath of relief. “I’ll silence my phone. You can text me updates if necessary.”

 

“Of course, Captain,” T’Challa said and abruptly hung up. Steve wondered if Tony had walked into earshot, and then immediately shook his head to rid himself of the thought.

 

Bucky was staring at him anxiously. “Well?”

 

“We need to hide. Tony’s coming for a visit.”

 

Bucky’s expression darkened and clouded over, so Steve took charge and led them over to the nearest door. Steve flung it open and saw that it was a supply closet. “Ugh,” Bucky said, but he didn’t protest as Steve dragged them into the tiny room.

 

They were either gonna have to stand chest-to-chest or sit down with their legs all tangled up. Steve opted to settle onto the floor, especially since they had no idea how long this was gonna be.

 

Bucky sighed and followed him down. They maneuvered around until they found a comfortable position where their legs weren’t pressing against anything that’d hurt. Steve reached up and locked the door.

 

“So, how long are we in here?” Bucky asked, letting his head rest back against the wall.

 

“No idea.”

 

Bucky scowled, letting his hair fall to cover part of his face.

 

Steve pulled out his phone and silenced it before shooting a text to Sam.

 

STEVE: You hiding?

 

SAM: Yep I’m under Kit-Kat’s bed

 

STEVE: Wtf why????

 

SAM: I have my reasons [smirking emoji]

 

Steve rolled his eyes and sent a text out to the group message.

 

STEVE: Everyone safe?

 

SAM: Bby you just asked me

 

SAM: Wait nvm this is a different convo

 

WANDA: I’m safe. I’m in the medlabs with several doctors to distract anyone from coming near me.

 

SCOTT: I’m in the pantry!!! By myself!!! So many snacks!!!!! :D :D :D

 

CLINT: fcuk u bro i wnat fkin SNAX

 

STEVE: Clint where are you???

 

CLINT: none of ur business but it rhymes w SHMARE BENTS

 

WANDA: He’s in the air vents I see him right now

 

CLINT: WHUT I WAS BEING LOW KEY HWO DARE U

 

WANDA: Where’s Bucky?

 

STEVE: With me

 

SCOTT: Dude!!!!!

 

SAM: [Moon emoji] where you two at?

 

STEVE: Supply closet

 

SCOTT: LOL!!!

 

CLINT: get rehkt u 2

 

Steve sighed and closed his phone.

 

“Your friends okay?” Bucky asked nervously, picking at his shirt.

 

“Yeah. They’re all hidden.

 

Bucky let out a breath. “Good. That’s good.”

 

They fell into a vigilant but comfortable silence. Steve started absentmindedly playing with the fabric of Bucky’s jeans, tracing patterns over the denim. Bucky watched him for a while before he shifted around and pulled a sharpie out of his pocket, handing it to Steve.

 

“Draw them,” he said with a shrug when Steve stared at him blankly.

 

Steve grabbed the sharpie, but he stared at it too long. He hadn’t drawn in—fuck— _years_. But Bucky didn’t know that. Bucky only knew him as the Steve who doodled on every available surface. Bucky had started carrying around pens with him long before the war, since Steve always forgot or lost his own pens.

 

So, Steve tried not to look uneasy as he uncapped the pen and started doodling the patterns on Bucky’s jeans.

 

Steve fell into a rhythm more quickly than he anticipated, and the next thing he knew, Bucky’s jeans were half-filled with little doodles. Bucky gave his jeans a smug look. When Steve paused, he made an impatient gesture, as if to say, _They’re not gonna draw on themselves_.

 

Steve huffed a little bit and continued his work.

 

He was trying to draw a rainbow with a face when he heard slow footsteps.

 

And that fucking voice.

 

“This really is a beautiful place you’ve got here, My Liege,” Tony was saying in a curiously serious tone, save for the slight teasing in the kingly title.

 

T’Challa said, “We try to coexist with the beauty of our country rather than dominate it.”

 

“Huh. That’s really poetic. Anyone ever tell you that you sound like one of those profound quotes websites?”

 

“That’s not something I hear every day,” T’Challa replied wryly, although Steve could distinctly remember Sam asking T’Challa if he was secretly an inspirational quotes generating AI trapped in a human’s body.

 

“Gotta be original,” Tony was saying, his voice starting to get louder. Steve stared at the crack under the door and saw shadows. He and Bucky didn’t even breathe, much less move, as they continued walking. “Y’know, about those labs...”

 

“Don’t even try it, Stark,” T’Challa said. “Our technology is superior to yours. You just have to live with it.”

 

“But I’m a scholar! I live for the pursuit of knowledge!”

 

T’Challa hummed, as if pretending to think about it. “No.”

 

“C’monnnn,” Tony whined as their voices started to fade. Steve blocked it out, bowing his head a little bit.

 

Bucky reached out and gently extracted the sharpie from his grip. Steve looked down and noted that the ink had exploded over his palm. “You okay?” Bucky breathed out, scarcely audible.

 

Steve bit down on his lip. He tried to never ever think about Tony. Ever. Because. Look at what he’d done. How would he ever be able to cope with that?

 

“Stevie?”

 

Steve thought about how it had felt to watch Bucky get blown back from Tony, arm missing. He’d seen so red that he hadn’t been able to breathe with his anger. He’d—he’d been _this close_ to killing one of the closest friends he’d ever had. “They should lock me up,” he whispered.

 

Bucky grimaced. “No. They should lock _me_ up.”

 

Steve shook his head. “None of that—“

 

“—was my fault,” Bucky finished, rolling his eyes. “I’m still dangerous, Steve.”

 

Steve reached out and grabbed his hand. “You ever think that we’re both under lock and key without a cell anyways?”

 

Bucky frowned.

 

“You’re imprisoned in cryo, and I’m imprisoned in the Secret Avengers.”

 

“That’s an... odd way to think about it,” Bucky said slowly.

 

Steve lifted a shoulder. “Whatever.”

 

Their hands were still loosely linked together.

 

Bucky pulled away to reach into his pocket and pulled out another sharpie, handing it to Steve. “You been carrying these around?” Steve asked in bemusement. “How many do you have?”

 

“None of your concern,” Bucky said, eyes lighting. “And I have at least as many sharpies as knives.”

 

Steve giggled. “That’s a lot.” He uncapped the sharpie and made a concentrated effort to resume his work.

 

“I’ve been trying to do that since the Potomac,” Bucky said after a pause. “It actually helps me carry half the knives I want to carry. It’s been useful in being more inconspicuous.”

 

Steve paused, staring at Bucky. “You’ve been carrying around pens for the past three years?” he asked blankly.

 

Bucky blinked. “I—is that? Wrong?”

 

Steve blinked back sudden tears. “I—no. It’s just.” Steve sighed, rubbing at his face. “I missed you, Buck.”

 

“I missed you too, Steve, you gotta know that.”

 

Steve was just beginning to understand that maybe Bucky had.

 

“I was just trying to keep you safe.” Bucky was staring down at his jeans, tracing over one of the doodles on his thigh.

 

“I’m safer with you than without you,” Steve said, then winced. “There I go again. Sorry. Ignore me.”

 

Bucky shook his head with a sad smile. “I am too,” he said.

 

They stared at each other for a moment, Steve in shock, Bucky with a challenging jut to his jaw.

 

Steve swallowed and turned back to Bucky’s jeans. They didn’t really say anything after that. Steve ended up leaning mostly into Bucky’s space as he doodled into the empty space by his belt, and then he realized that he was basically drawing all over his best friend’s crotch, and a flare of panic shot through him. He paused and chanced a worried glance up to make sure that Bucky was okay with this, but he just raised his eyebrows at Steve in question. Steve hurriedly looked away to finish up.

 

“Done,” he said after a while.

 

“Uh, no you’re not,” Bucky said, offended. Bucky got up on his knees and then swung his legs around so that his ass was right in Steve’s face.

 

Okay, so Steve hadn’t thought to draw on his ass and the backs of his thighs.

 

“Really?” Steve deadpanned even as he leaned closer with the sharpie, placing one hand on Bucky’s hip to keep him steady.

 

“Yeah. It’ll look weird otherwise.”

 

Steve ignored him and drew two big cartoonish smiley faces on Bucky’s back pockets. Then, he drew a bunch of tiny stick figures poking out of the pockets, waving an SOS flag.

 

When he was finished with the entire surface of Bucky’s jeans, he capped the sharpie, and Bucky didn’t bother trying to go back to their previous position, instead just opting to sit down on Steve’s lap. Steve pushed Bucky around until they were in the most comfortable position possible and asked, “You wanna sleep like this?”

 

“You’re comfy,” Bucky muttered defensively. “Your muscles are all pillowy.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes and checked his phone so that Bucky could read the texts too. The Secret Avengers group text had, like, over five hundred missed messages, and it took a while to scroll through them. Bucky would huff the approximation of a laugh every now and then, and Steve stored the sounds away in the warmest part of his heart.

 

Then.

 

T’CHALLA: Stark is staying the night. He will leave sometime before dinner tomorrow, but I am not sure when exactly. Is everyone okay?

 

SCOTT: I’m surrounded by food!!

 

SAM: Come and see, Kit-Kat [smirking emoji]

 

WANDA: Clint and I are fine

 

CLINT: word.

 

STEVE: So are me and Buck

 

SAM: How’s the closet suiting you Steve??

 

CLINT: lmao

 

T’CHALLA: One of these days, someone is going to ask me who keeps texting me, and that is how the world is going to find out about the existence of the Secret Avengers.

 

SAM: What a way to go though amirightoramiright

 

SCOTT: Seems legit

 

WANDA: You’re all ridiculous

 

“You tired yet?” Steve asked Bucky.

 

“’M always tired,” Bucky mumbled. He shifted his weight a little bit. “This is nice, though.”

 

Steve wound his free arm around Bucky’s torso. “Yeah,” he agreed, pressing his cheek to the side of Bucky’s head for a minute. Steve absentmindedly uncapped the sharpie again and grabbed Bucky’s hand.

 

“Oh, jeez,” Bucky said.

 

Steve just smirked and traced Bucky’s veins with the marker—the proof that he was alive. Then, without thinking too much about it, Steve drew a little heart over the pulse point on Bucky’s wrist.

 

“Aw,” Bucky said, taking his arm back after Steve had capped the sharpie again. He stuck the sharpie in Bucky’s back pocket, looking at the SOS stick figures in amusement as he did so.

 

Steve fell asleep before Bucky did, but they both woke up at the same time when Bucky cried out softly.

 

He scrambled around in Steve’s arms, muttering something in a different language, and raked his hand through his hair.

 

“Buck, hey, Buck,” Steve said, reaching out. Bucky scrambled away until his back came against the opposite wall.

 

Bucky just shook his head rapidly, but he froze when he looked down at his jeans. He blinked a few times. “Where the fuck am I.”

 

“With me. With Steve. It’s me,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky ran his hand down his thigh, eyes on the doodles all over his jeans. Then, he looked at his arm in surprise, eyes flicking to Steve. “You drew on me.”

 

“I drew on you,” Steve confirmed, voice cracking.

 

Bucky slumped heavily against the wall and pressed his hand into his eyes. “Fuck.”

 

Steve drew his knees up to his chest to give Bucky as much room as possible.

 

When T’Challa finally texted them that the coast was clear, they exited the closet silently. Everyone ended up staring at Bucky’s jeans for a beat too long before looking at Steve in some sort of realization, but nobody said anything about that, and Steve was immensely grateful.

 

For some weird reason that he couldn’t name.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky forgot four more words of the conditioning before Natasha picked Steve up for the mission.

 

Wanda told him what they meant later.

 

_Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace._

 

Steve winced because he knew that those were pretty colorful words, and Bucky was probably forgetting at least one memory per word. He hoped that it’d be worth it.

 

But Steve knew he’d forget his entire life in a heartbeat if it could mean Bucky would feel safe with himself again, so he definitely understood the weight of the situation.

 

“I’m going on a mission tomorrow,” Steve told Bucky anxiously at breakfast.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I promise I won’t freeze myself until you come back.”

 

Steve sighed in relief.

 

Bucky put on his doodled-on jeans on the day that Steve was leaving. When Steve raised an eyebrow at him, Bucky just shrugged. “Steve jeans,” he explained.

 

Steve smiled at him. “I’ll miss you too.”

 

Bucky glared at him, but there wasn’t a lot of heat to it.

 

Natasha breezed into the palace a few hours later, wearing sunglasses. “How are the Secret Avengers?” she asked Steve. “Which I know nothing about.”

 

“Good,” Steve said, grinning as he swept her into a tight hug. Natasha hugged back just as tightly.

 

“Girl!” Sam protested, throwing his arms out when Steve and Natasha hugged a beat too long.

 

Natasha rolled her eyes as she extracted herself from Steve’s embrace to hug Sam.

 

After Natasha was finished exchanging pleasantries with everyone else, she turned to Steve. “You ready to go?”

 

“Yeah, lemme just say bye to Bucky.”

 

Natasha nodded, and Steve jogged off, looking for Bucky.

 

He found Bucky in the gym, sweaty from a workout on the treadmill, which had not been turned off yet. He was glaring at Steve’s bloodstained punching bag with a passion when Steve walked inside, and he jumped away.

 

“Hey,” Steve said quietly.

 

“Hey.”

 

“I’m about to go.”

 

Bucky walked over to him and handed Steve a sharpie. “Say goodbye?” he requested in a small voice.

 

Steve uncapped the pen and grabbed Bucky’s wrist. He retraced the lines he’d drawn a few days ago along with the heart but added a dumb note on the back of Bucky’s palm:

 

_My turn to take all the stupid with me._

 

Bucky stared at the sentence for a long moment before he stepped forward and threw his arm around Steve’s neck. “Stay safe,” Bucky near-growled. “You hear me? You’ve got me to come home to now, okay? Stay fucking safe.”

 

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing Bucky in. “Okay. Sorry. I’ll try.” They pulled away at the same time. “Listen,” he said, trying to go for a faux-grave tone, “please do not kill Sam while I’m gone.”

 

Bucky was startled into a soft burst of laughter, and Steve’s chest expanded with warmth. Bucky’s eyes twinkled when he said, “Eh, I’ll just have to keep my distance to be safe.”

 

“Be safe,” Steve echoed.

 

Bucky lightly grazed his knuckles along Steve’s cheek. “You too, pal.”

 

One of the Wakandan trainers that hated Steve viciously walked into the gym and cleared her throat, glaring at them. Steve hastily stepped away. “Sorry, ma’am.”

 

“Ma’am,” Bucky repeated in a small voice.

 

“Here to get blood all over my floors again?” she asked in accented English, annoyed.

 

“Nope! He was just leaving,” Bucky said. “And we’re working on the blood thing.”

 

The trainer huffed in disbelief, walking over to the weight section but shooting them intermittent distrustful glances.

 

Bucky looked at Steve, delighted. “You got Anaya to hate you?”

 

Steve blinked at him. “She told you her name?” The trainer—Anaya—had purposefully withheld her name from Steve out of _spite_. (Which actually sounded like something Steve would’ve done.)

 

Bucky laughed again, briefly knocking his forehead into Steve’s shoulder. “Steve, you’re the fuckin’ best.”

 

Steve smiled, and he was aware that the expression was probably too tender. “I’ll be back soon.”

 

Bucky stuck out his arm. “Before this washes off, please.”

 

Steve started walking towards the gym exit, Bucky following him slowly. “You could just get a tattoo if you want it to stay there forever.”

 

Bucky blinked once. “ _That’s_ an idea.” He frowned. “But then I won’t have you obligated to draw on it every couple’a days. That may be the only thing keeping you around.” His tone was light, but there was a grave subject right underneath the surface of his words. Steve chose to ignore that.

 

“Fine. I’ll try and be back before that completely washes off.”

 

“I’ll miss you, Stevie.”

 

“I’ll miss you too, Buck.”

 

Steve finished saying goodbye to the Secret Avengers much more quickly, since they did not suffer from the same intense codependency that had grown out of control between him and Bucky. Although, Sam did cling a little bit in his hug.

 

But Steve would be back. He always came back.

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha was quiet for the first half hour of the plane ride.

 

Then,

 

“So, Sam tells me—“

 

“Uh, oh.”

 

Natasha shot him a look. “—that you and Barnes spent nearly twenty-four hours in a closet together.”

 

Steve sighed. “Oh no.”

 

Natasha was already smirking. “How did coming out feel?”

 

Steve whacked her half-heartedly. “You’re awful.”

 

“Barnes’ pants? Did you do that?”

 

“Maybe a little bit,” Steve muttered.

 

“Just a bit?” she teased, amused.

 

“He carries around pens for me,” Steve said suddenly. “He used to do that before he died. And he’s been doing that for the past three years, apparently. Just. Carrying pens.”

 

“That is adorable,” Natasha noted.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

 

Natasha set the plane for autopilot, swiveling her chair to fully face Steve. Her eyes were sparkling. “It’s a little bit _Brokeback Mountain_.”

 

Steve frowned. “Buck and I are gay ranchers?”

 

“A little bit.”

 

Steve gave Natasha a weird look.

 

“You suuure you’re not secretly having wild sex with him?” Natasha asked in a singsong.

 

“Oh my god,” Steve muttered, feeling his face go hot.

 

“But in all seriousness, how is he?” Natasha said, dropping her voice lower as the teasing light vanished from her eyes.

 

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “He’s good. He... We won’t be able to completely decondition him right now, so he wants to go back under.”

 

Natasha’s expression darkened. “Again,” she said blankly.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And how do you feel about that?”

 

Steve pursed his lips. “I respect all of Bucky’s decisions.”

 

“That’s not what I asked,” she pointed out quietly. “He’s going to _leave_ you again. How do you feel about that?”

 

Steve glared at her. “You’re not my fucking therapist.”

 

“You don’t have a therapist.” Natasha scooted forward on her seat. “All I’m saying is that you didn’t deal with everything particularly well the last time Barnes went under.”

 

“I’m dealing with it,” Steve gritted out.

 

“A _real_ bang-up job you’re doing too.”

 

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Steve snapped. “That I don’t feel like a person when he’s gone? That everything I do feels meaningless when he isn’t there? That I’m going to miss him so fucking much that I’ll disappear inside myself?”

 

Natasha nodded slowly. “That’d be a start.”

 

Steve let out a tired breath and turned away. “I want to punch people. Not talk about my feelings.”

 

Natasha raised her hands peaceably. “Okay. No more feelings from here on out.”

 

Steve sagged in relief.

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha was shoving a knife into her bra, which could not have been comfortable, but Steve didn’t say anything as he selected a variety of guns.

 

“You ever miss the shield?” she asked absentmindedly. “You’ve basically never fought without it.”

 

Steve checked his ammo and added some more shells. “Sure. But this feels appropriate too.”

 

“My little Steven. All grown up and killing people,” Natasha cooed.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I fought in an elite task force in World War II, Nat.”

 

“Killing people _again_ ,” Natasha amended.

 

They walked out of the jet together, Natasha showing Steve her newest hiding place for weapons. She explained the story behind figuring out how to use this hiding place until they had reached the Hydra base.

 

“Okay. You can basically kill everyone you run into. They’re all terrible people. The only useful shit is going to be on the second floor, and I’ll take care of that. I’ll give you a holler when it’s cool to come up. The point is to have fun and be yourself,” Natasha said with a joking wink. “Also, take out as much of your anger as you can.”

 

Steve readied his first gun, adrenaline already creeping through his system. “Got it.”

 

They split up.

 

Since the Hydra base was relatively small, it wasn’t impractical to only have Steve and Natasha dispose of it. Steve tore through the first floor with bullets and fists. He wished that the feeling of crushing someone’s bones wasn’t as satisfying as it was, but he relished in the damage that flowed in his wake.

 

These were people that had hurt Bucky. Maybe not personally, but Steve didn’t exactly think rationally in the cases of Bucky or Hydra.

 

Steve was pretty thoroughly covered in blood, only some of it his own, when Natasha said, “If you’re not too busy, you can come join the party at the second floor.”

 

Steve always loved fighting alongside Natasha. He’d insist that it wasn’t because she had the same clever but reckless ideas as he did, but that was a good fraction of the reason why working with her was so much fun.

 

Although, killing wasn’t fun. It was just... cathartic, in a way.

 

And now that he wasn’t Captain America anymore, he could kill Hydra assholes without worrying about a PR disaster. Perks of being a hollow husk of a person.

 

He and Natasha finished and stood back-to-back, gazing over the corpses on the ground. Natasha stood on her tiptoes to throw her arm around Steve’s shoulders as they picked their way outside, which was an incredibly awkward position, but Steve didn’t shift it.

 

They watched the base explode with twin gazes of practiced apathy.

 

“Find anything interesting?” Steve asked, wrinkling his nose as the smell of death caught up with him.

 

“Always,” Natasha said.

 

They settled back into the jet in tired silence. Steve cleaned his guns and cringed at the sticky feeling of drying blood. Natasha had the plane take off before joining him on the floor, sorting through gadgets and whatnot in companionable silence.

 

“I have a question,” Natasha suddenly announced, sitting back. Steve inclined his head slightly as he disassembled another gun. “You ever think about doing something else?”

 

Steve didn’t look up. “What d’you mean? Is there a better way to take these apart?” Steve asked in amusement, gesturing to the rest of the guns.

 

“No, no,” Natasha said. “Like. Not being a hero anymore.”

 

Steve blinked. “Oh.”

 

“Oh,” Natasha echoed, narrowing her eyes at him a little bit.

 

This was something that Steve tried to think about as sparingly as possible, especially during the past seven and a half months. “Did I ever really, seriously think about it?” he asked slowly, trying not to think about how he was stalling.

 

“Yes.”

 

Steve swallowed roughly. “Once.”

 

“Ah,” Natasha said, seemingly understanding it all with just one word. Steve relaxed. He didn’t want to ever explain this.

 

“But it’s dumb,” Steve added hastily. “It’s dumb to think I could ever be a person without a war.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“It is. I’ve never been... not-fighting. I was fighting constantly even before the serum. So. It was a stupid idea.”

 

Natasha was watching him carefully. “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

 

They watched each other for a moment.

 

“I’ve been at war my whole life too,” she reminded him quietly. “Do you think I could live without a war?”

 

“Of course,” Steve said immediately, kind of alarmed at the idea that Natasha wouldn’t be able to survive anything.

 

Natasha gave him a pointed look, and Steve shrank in on himself.

 

“I’m different,” he pointed out. “I’m like a disease. I need something violent in my life, or else I’ll create the violence myself.”

 

“You know what can be violent?” Natasha asked, still staring at him with this sharp look. “Painting.”

 

Steve fumbled and dropped his gun. “How did you—“

 

“I did my research on you before I met you,” she explained. “I know you were an artist. A pretty damn good one too.”

 

“I wasn’t—“

 

“Punching things doesn’t have to be your go-to way of violence,” Natasha went on. “It can be angry strokes of the brush. It can be—I dunno—drawing something really harsh and disturbing. You don’t have to physically hurt people to take out your inclination to violence.”

 

Steve was shaking his head. “Nat, I haven’t painted in _years_.”

 

“You should try again.” She reached forward and squeezed his hand once. “Try that the next time you feel like watching your skin peel off.”

 

They sat in tense silence for a while. “Is that your way of taking out your anger?” Steve finally asked in a dull, bitter voice.

 

“No. My problems aren’t really with anger.”

 

“What are they with, then?”

 

“Guilt.”

 

Steve hunched his shoulders.

 

“If Barnes ever tries to stay awake, he’ll have similar problems,” Natasha mused. “I’ll give him some tips if he wants to hear them. Something tells me he’ll be more receptive than you.”

 

Steve blinked a few times. “I’m receptive.”

 

Natasha laughed, not bothering to respond to that.

 

Steve slowly picked up his gun again, and they fell back into silence.

 

A little while later, Natasha’s phone started beeping. She reached for it distractedly. “Hello?”

 

Steve sucked in a harsh, surprised breath when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. “ _Nat_.” Curse his fucking super hearing.

 

“Tony. What’s up?”

 

“ _We have a little bit of a situation_ ,” Tony said, and his voice sounded tight.

 

Steve walked to the cockpit so that he wouldn’t be able to make out Tony’s words. It was okay, though. The blood rushing in his ears and the pounding in his head were making it pretty difficult to focus on anything, which was a blessing.

 

“Steve,” Natasha said, and oh, she must’ve gotten off the phone. Her voice was tense. “Ah, shit.” She grabbed Steve’s wrist and started pulling his hand towards her neck, but Steve jerked back. Natasha glared at him. “I’m trying to do the pulse thing,” she explained.

 

Steve shook his head. “Don’t touch me,” he managed. “I’m. I can’t—I’m _dangerous_ —I’m—“

 

Natasha’s expression flashed with something like pain before she pushed it down and grabbed Steve’s shoulders. Steve made a pathetic noise and tried to squirm away, but Natasha was fucking strong. “We can talk about this later, but there’s an emergency now.”

 

Steve tried to find the quiet in his brain as he stuttered out, “A—a legit emergency?”

 

“Like the Battle of New York level emergency, yeah.”

 

Fear and anger flashed through Steve’s veins like a bolt of lightning.

 

“Do you want to come?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve whispered. “Secret Avengers will be there anyway.” He narrowed his eyes as he finally wrenched himself out of Natasha’s grasp and backed into the opposite corner of the jet. “Don’t you have to wait for the UN’s approval before you go in?”

 

“They approved,” Natasha said.

 

“Don’t they need a little bit of notice first? Men don’t generally come to agreements this quickly.”

 

“There’s a different protocol for emergencies,” Natasha snapped. “Which you would’ve known if you’d stayed.”

 

Steve flinched. This was the first time Natasha had ever voiced her anger over the whole... thing.

 

“Sorry,” she said with a stressed puff of air. “Let’s go.”

 

“Where?” Steve managed.

 

“Athens.”

 

“I’ve never been to Greece.”

 

“Cool.”

 

Steve called T’Challa with shaking fingers. “We’re on our way,” T’Challa said as soon as the line connected.

 

“Good.”

 

“Separately, of course.”

 

“Right. And Bucky?”

 

“Staying behind. Don’t worry.”

 

Steve sighed in relief. “I’ll see you there.” They hung up.

 

Natasha was sitting in the pilot’s seat, her shoulders tense.

 

Steve approached her warily. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

 

“What for?”

 

“For leaving.”

 

Natasha was quiet for a while before she threw him a glance. “It’s not going to be like this forever,” she said quietly. “We’re a family. We’ll have to repair ourselves sometime.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed in a small voice.

 

Natasha blinked, and something cleared in her expression. Her lips parted with some sort of realization.

 

“What?” Steve asked warily.

 

“We can’t—“ she began. “We can’t keep thinking about it that way.”

 

Steve blinked a few times. “What do you mean?”

 

Natasha smiled, and it was small and sad and the most genuine expression of pain and hope that Steve had ever seen. “We’re thinking of it all too abstractly.”

 

Steve’s eyes widened in dawning comprehension. “We’re gonna get _better_ ,” he whispered mockingly.

 

Natasha nodded rapidly. “Exactly. We can’t—we can’t keep thinking about it like it’s this beautiful time in the distant future. It’s—getting better is _now_.”

 

Steve swallowed roughly. “Getting better is now,” he murmured numbly.

 

“And maybe we need to start _right here_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve and Natasha decided to split up as soon as they landed to go cover more ground (they were aware that they were going to be the only ones here for a few more hours due to the flight time).

 

Natasha had given him a brief rundown of the threat on the plane, but that didn’t mean that Steve wasn’t horrified when he saw the state of Athens.

 

Everyone was frozen but still clearly very conscious. Most were in horrifying positions: mothers with their fingers laced around their children’s necks, men holding men in the position to snap their necks, people tipping themselves towards the edge of balconies.

 

Most were crying silently in abject confusion.

 

Steve was combing the streets, prying people off of each other only to have them immediately go back to the same position, when Natasha found him, her eyes wide with something like glazed horror. “I don’t know what to do,” she said faintly.

 

Steve gave her a panicked look in return. “We have to find the guy,” he said distantly. “It’s just one guy, right?”

 

“How is he holding the whole city?” Natasha whispered to herself.

 

They started walking the streets together. Steve clutched his gun tightly enough that he was distantly worried it would snap under the pressure, but it didn’t.

 

T’Challa found them next. He was cursing something low in Wakandan, and Natasha and Steve just looked at him gravely. “Is there a plan?” he asked.

 

“Not really.”

 

The Secret Avengers found them next. Wanda looked like she kind of wanted to cry, and Clint was already trembling a little bit. Natasha took one look at him and grabbed his wrist. He looked down at her hand and relaxed marginally, but he didn’t calm down.

 

Steve stood next to Wanda, trying to gauge her mood. “You okay?”

 

She looked at him distantly. “You’re covered in blood.”

 

“Most isn’t mine.”

 

“How reassuring,” she muttered numbly.

 

Sam was watching Steve in the same wary way that Steve was watching Wanda, and Steve didn’t really know what to do with that.

 

“Do you think you could break the control?” Steve asked her.

 

“Only one way to find out.” Wanda held up her hands towards the nearest person, and red wisps shot into the woman’s head. They watched her tensely, and a moment later, she staggered a few steps away from the woman that she had been on the brink of strangling. She looked around wildly and said something in hysterical Greek.

 

Natasha stepped forward and started speaking to her in whatever language, and the woman froze and seemed to understand her, so Steve turned to his team.

 

“Wanda, you keep doing that to as many people as you can. Save—save the children as a first priority, okay?” Wanda nodded shakily. “Sam, you go with her. Make sure she’s safe. Clint and Scott, you go look for the guy behind this.”

 

“And what are you doing?” Clint asked tersely.

 

Steve shook his head. “I’m gonna try to move people,” he explained, pointing at the nearest building, where a bunch of people had gathered at the edge of the roof.

 

T’Challa and Natasha looked at him. “Are we getting assignments?”

 

“You guys aren’t under my authority,” Steve reminded them quietly.

 

“Our team is not here yet,” T’Challa said. “And neither of us are opposed to following your command.”

 

Steve nodded. “You go with Scott and Clint. Nat, you go with Wanda. Talk down the people we’re bringing back.” They both nodded, looking relieved to have an assignment.

 

Steve turned to the nearest building and started to the roof as everyone else scattered.

 

He picked up the closest person, and she shuddered. He carried her into a conference room across the hall and locked her inside. She banged on the door, but she wasn’t going to be getting out anytime soon, which was pretty much the idea.

 

Steve carried everyone else on the edge of the roof to different rooms, and by the time the roof was cleared, he was sweaty and panting, and there may or may not have been tears in his eyes as he looked down at the drop to the ground. _Steve_ would’ve stood on the edge without being controlled, probably. Fuck, he was so weak. Maybe Natasha was right, and he didn’t even deserve to be a “hero” anymore. He wasn’t. He wasn’t a hero at all.

 

Steve made his way to the next building, furiously blinking back his tears.

 

As he was picking up another person, he heard a familiar noise, and his heart sank. “Need a hand, Cap?” Tony asked as he landed next to Steve on the roof. His voice was tense and cold and Steve wanted to throw himself off the roof.

 

“I’m not Captain America,” Steve muttered, throwing the person over his shoulder so that he wouldn’t have to look at Tony or the edge of the roof anymore.

 

“Hm,” Tony said noncommittally. Steve heard clanking footsteps and a soft grunt, which meant Tony was following him. Great. “You made any progress with the threat?”

 

“I dunno. I’ve just been locking people in rooms so they don’t kill themselves.”

 

“Sounds fun.”

 

They worked in tense silence, moving from roof to roof with slow progress.

 

Finally, Steve blurted out, “You never called,” trying for a light tone and failing so disastrously that he cringed.

 

Tony gave him a weird look that Steve could only envision through the faceplate. “You think we can fix what you did with a fucking phone call?”

 

“No,” Steve said, voice quiet. “Is Rhodes okay?”

 

“Getting there,” Tony sighed, scooping up a fat businessman and using his repulsors to help with the weight.

 

“Are _you_ okay?”

 

Tony stumbled in surprise at the question. “Always.” He shot Steve a look. “Are you?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes and tossed back an, “Always,” of his own. Tony sighed loudly.

 

They dropped into uncomfortable silence again.

 

Five roofs later, Steve turned to watch Tony as he came back from locking someone in the bathroom. “Tony, I—“

 

But Tony didn’t stop walking or even slow down. He grabbed Steve by the neck and pushed him backwards, towards the roof’s edge.

 

“Tony,” Steve gasped out, hands instinctually scrabbling for purchase on Tony’s gauntlets.

 

“It’s always so sad to see people who love each other fighting,” a new voice drawled, and Steve felt dread creep steadily into his system. “Don’t you think, Captain?”

 

Steve was at the edge of the roof now, his vision going spotty with lack of oxygen.

 

A man strolled into view, watching casually. “What do you think would be more tragic? Death by suffocation or being dropped off the roof? Mr. Stark?”

 

“Well, falling to death is always more poetic,” Tony said, and his voice was incredibly tense again.

 

“I agree,” the man said. “It’s almost _romantic_.” He turned to Tony. “Throw him off the roof.”

 

Steve’s eyes went wide as Tony released his throat. He didn’t even have time to gasp or cough before he was being shoved hard. And the next thing he knew, he was falling down, headfirst.

 

He didn’t know if he felt relieved or horrified that this was going to be how it finally ended. It seemed fitting, at the very least.

 

But then, there was a loud, loud noise, and a hard hand was grabbing Steve’s ankle, and Steve was being yanked upwards, and he wasn’t dying yet.

 

Tony dropped Steve on another roof, two blocks away, and Steve sucked in heavy, greedy breaths. “How’d you...?” he rasped.

 

Tony stared at him, lifting the faceplate. “He has to tell you what to do in order for his magic mind control to work, I think. So, I didn’t listen.”

 

Tony helped him sit up carefully. “You saved me,” Steve said dumbly.

 

“I don’t hate you, you know,” Tony whispered in this tiny, broken voice. “You’re one of my best friends. I’ve never, ever wanted to watch you die. Except, maybe, when dad waxed poetic about you.”

 

Steve ignored Tony’s feeble attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m so sorry,” he gasped, still struggling for breath. “I—I don’t deserve—I fucked up so bad—I—I—“

 

“Hey, hold your horses, Rogers,” Tony choked out. “You’re not the only fuck-up on this roof.”

 

“You’re anything but a fuck-up,” Steve said fiercely. “I—I’ve been so fucking _selfish_ ,” he spat.

 

“No, no,” Tony said, but Steve shook his head.

 

“You were just trying to do the right thing. Same as me.”

 

“It got fucked for the both of us, I think,” Tony said after a pause. “We’re compromised.”

 

Steve reached forward and grabbed Tony’s shoulder tightly. “We’re getting better, right? We’re fixing this? We—we can’t—“

 

“We’re a family,” Tony said, fire in his eyes. “We’ll fix it. We’ll find a way.”

 

“He’s my family too,” Steve added, and they both knew he was talking about Bucky. “But I can’t—“

 

Tony looked away. “I get why you chose him. I do. If I had to choose between you guys and Pepper, I—“ He cut himself off and cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I can forgive him. I don’t know _how_ I’ll forgive you.”

 

Steve felt like the absolute shittiest person on the planet. “Can we—try?”

 

Tony stared at him. “We can try,” he said, sounding kind of numb.

 

They both seemed to relax a little bit.

 

“Bad guy?” Tony blurted out, jerking a thumb back from the way they’d come.

 

“Bad guy,” Steve confirmed, relieved that this conversation was finished for now.

 

Tony asked Friday to play some rock and roll song as loud as she could, and Steve’s ears ached as Tony carried them back to the mind control guy, who appeared to be waiting.

 

The guy looked kind of offended and said something, but Steve couldn’t hear him.

 

He and Tony worked in the perfect sync that Steve had completely forgotten about in the past seven and a half months, and Steve kind of wanted to cry with how good it felt to be working with him instead of against him.

 

But then, Steve got close to the man while Tony was a little bit farther away, and Steve could suddenly hear him.

 

“Stop,” he said, and Steve just—stopped. “Kill Stark.”

 

Oh no.

 

Very abruptly, that was the only thing Steve could think of. He had to kill Tony. Obviously. It was the only way things could go from here. Killing Tony.

 

He loaded his gun and pointed it at Tony.

 

“Oh no,” Tony said, somehow over the blaring music. Why was the music so loud? Steve didn’t know. Steve didn’t care. Steve had to kill Tony.

 

Tony managed to dodge his bullets for a few minutes, but one eventually lodged itself in the dead center of Tony’s right hand repulsor.

 

“Aw, fuck, Steve, listen,” Tony said, shooting a repulsor blast at Steve. Steve dropped the gun with a hiss of pain, but he ignored the second and third degree burns on his hand. He had to kill Tony. “Steve, hey.”

 

Steve extracted a new gun with his left hand.

 

“Fuck.”

 

He was just about to shoot Tony in the head when something slammed into his back.

 

Steve staggered forward but used the movement to whirl around, pistol-whipping the face of that kid Tony had enlisted seven and a half months ago—that kid from Queens with the webs and shit.

 

“Sorry ‘bout this, Captain America, sir,” he said after recovering from the pistol to the face surprisingly quickly. Queens shot a web towards Steve, and it wound around his hand with the pistol.

 

Okay. That was fine. It wasn’t like Steve hadn’t endured pain worse than holding a gun in a burnt hand.

 

“Shit, don’t do that, pal, ouch, that looks like it huuuurts,” Queens observed as Steve grabbed another gun with his burnt hand.

 

“Stay out of this, Queens,” Steve snapped. He turned around to point the gun at Tony, but—

 

“Nope!” Queens shouted, and great, now there were webs on both of his hands. Where was Clint when you needed him?

 

“Shit, kid—“ Tony said.

 

“You alright, Mr. Stark?” Queens asked.

 

Tony stared at him. “You have to—“

 

“Sorry, I can’t hear you. I’m wearing ear buds!” Queens announced happily.

 

“Smart kid,” Tony muttered, and it sounded kind of fond.

 

Steve grit his teeth and started running towards Tony. So, he didn’t have use of his hands. So, what? He could do this.

 

“Nooooo,” Queens said and shot another web at Steve’s legs. “Hah. Aiming for the legs still works, Mr. Stark!”

 

Tony approached Steve warily. “You still want to kill me, buddy?”

 

Steve glared at him from his very undignified place on the ground.

 

“Right. Hold that thought,” Tony said, turning to the guy that had started all this shit in the first place.

 

Steve kind of blocked out the fight, still struggling out of the webs. He mostly had one hand free when T’Challa, Clint, and Scott landed on the roof.

 

“Can someone please take care of Steve!” Tony shouted over his music as he tried to detain the guy. “He’s under orders to kill me!”

 

“Oh, man,” Scott whistled.

 

“I’ll do it,” T’Challa said.

 

“Wait,” Steve said, freezing. “T’Challa, I—“

 

But then a vibranium-covered hand was arcing towards him, and Steve blacked out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve woke up for a minute on the jet, brain swimming.

 

“Please, fuck, make sure he’s okay—“ Tony was saying, “—get him out of here, I don’t care—“

 

But then he was fading into unconsciousness again.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve blinked as he was being dragged off the jet. “What the fuck,” he slurred.

 

“Is everyone alright?” one of the doctors asked, rushing towards him.

 

“Rogers is the worst-off,” T’Challa explained. “Can someone alert Barnes?”

 

“No,” Steve mumbled. “He’ll get mad.” But nobody payed him any attention, and Steve passed out again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve woke up for good in one of the cots in the medical wing.

 

Bucky was staring at him blankly at the side of the cot. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

 

Steve blinked a few times. “Like I’ve got a hangover.”

 

Bucky nodded. “How much of the fight do you remember?”

 

Steve cast his mind back, and then groaned. “Fuck. All of it.”

 

Bucky’s lip trembled slightly, and it dawned on Steve that his face was blank because he was trying to hide how upset he was. “You—“ he began, voice rough, but he cut himself off.

 

“Hey, Buck, c’mere,” Steve said softly.

 

Bucky tucked his head down so that his chin pressed against his chest. Steve scooted over, and Bucky crawled onto the other half of the tiny cot, immediately plastering himself to Steve’s side, breathing noisily.

 

“We’re—it’s—it’s okay,” Steve murmured, bringing one hand up to the back of Bucky’s head (the other hand was pretty heavily bandaged).

 

Bucky croaked, “I never thought you’d be controlled too. F-fuck, that’s all I w-wanted. You to be safe. Oh, _god_.” Bucky’s shoulders shook on a smothered sob, and Steve pulled him closer.

 

“D’you know if Tony’s okay?” Steve asked. “If—everyone else?”

 

Bucky pulled his face away from Steve’s neck for a second to say, “Romanoff got a sprained wrist, and Stark broke one of the bones in his hand, and Wanda’s got one helluva headache. But that’s it.”

 

Steve relaxed a little bit.

 

“Your hand was practically charred off,” Bucky mumbled, tucking his face back into Steve’s neck. “It was fucked up.”

 

Steve wondered how long he’d have to be at the punching bag to achieve a similar effect. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Absolutely, one hundred percent, _not_ your fault.”

 

They stayed like that for a while. Steve felt Bucky slowly doze off, exhaustion coming off of him in waves. And Steve didn’t dare move a muscle.

 

Steve was half-asleep himself when the Secret Avengers quietly padded into the room. Steve gestured to Bucky with his bandaged hand, and they all stayed quiet, treading to Steve’s cot on silent feet as they settled down.

 

 _You okay?_ Clint signed. There was an undertone of distress in his eyes, and Steve felt a surprisingly strong pang for him. He nodded. Clint let out a breath.

 

Sam scooted forward and examined Steve’s injured hand, forehead creased with worry. Steve tried to give him a reassuring smile.

 

Then, Scott accidentally scraped the leg of his chair against the ground, and Bucky jolted awake so suddenly that Steve felt like he had vertigo. Bucky was on his feet in a flash, a knife in his hand.

 

Steve sat up and slowly put a hand on his wrist. Bucky glanced down at him, and his eyes cleared slightly, but he didn’t put his arm down. “We’re okay,” Steve whispered. “We’re in Wakanda.”

 

Bucky stared at his own hand for a long moment before slowly lowering his arm. “Sorry,” he muttered, sinking down to sit on the empty half of Steve’s mattress. He stuck his knife into his boot and took out a pen to twirl in his fingers instead.

 

“Hey, man, it’s all cool,” Clint said. “We’ve all been there.”

 

“We have?” Scott asked, brow furrowed in a cross between concern and confusion. Wanda whacked him on the bicep. “Ow!”

 

“Traumatized, Scott,” Wanda said in her best, _duh_ , voice.

 

“Oh. Right.”

 

Bucky huffed and absentmindedly leaned against Steve’s side again.

 

“How’d the fight end?” Steve asked.

 

Everyone looked at T’Challa. He sighed and said, “Kilgrave was apprehended. Evidently, he is unable to control people while he is unconscious. He will be living a very lonely life from now on.”

 

Steve nodded slowly. It didn’t sound like T’Challa was finished talking.

 

“Stark knows that I am helping you,” T’Challa added after a pause. “I do not think he will take this to the UN, but our defenses will be prepared if he does.”

 

“He won’t,” Steve said.

 

“How can you know that, Steve?” Sam asked, voice hard.

 

“I talked to him. He doesn’t want it to be like this forever either. I don’t think any of us want to stay fractured like this forever.”

 

Bucky went very still.

 

Steve looked at him and whispered, quiet enough so that only Bucky could hear, “I told him you’re my family too, though. He knows how difficult that choice is, and I don’t think he’ll come after you again.”

 

Bucky scowled. “You know I don’t deserve that kind of humanity, Steve. Stark has the right idea.” Bucky mimed jabbing the pen into his jugular. “Safer for everyone.”

 

Steve felt sick at the thought. “Nope. We’ve been over this.”

 

Bucky gave him one of the darkest looks Steve had ever seen. “Be honest, Stevie. If Stark’s gonna kill me, you won’t be far behind.”

 

Well. Way to kill the mood.

 

Everyone else noticed the way Steve and Bucky had dropped into gloomy, tense silence. Therefore, they all tried to quickly correct it at the same time by bursting into conversation that was meant to be normal or whatever. Steve tuned them out, picking absentmindedly at his bandage. After a minute of that, though, Bucky grabbed his wrist in a death grip and yanked it away from the bandage.

 

They glared at each other as conversation continued around them. Bucky raised his chin in some sort of defiance as he laced fingers with Steve. “No,” he said, and his tone booked no argument.

 

Steve tried anyway. “I was just—“

 

“ _No_.”

 

Steve scowled.

 

“We are getting better now,” Bucky hissed. “No more of this self destructive shit. We’re getting better right fucking now.”

 

“How the fuck are you gonna see that through if you’re just going under again?” Steve demanded before he could stop himself. He clamped his mouth shut and looked away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

 

“Yes, you fucking did,” Bucky growled lowly.

 

“I didn’t. You can do whatever the fuck you want. See if I care.”

 

“Stop fucking lying.”

 

“I’m not fucking lying!”

 

It took them a moment to realize that the volume of their conversation had risen enough that everyone else had fallen silent.

 

Steve stood up and staggered a few steps away from the cot before his gait smoothed out. He was still wearing the same pants from the mission with Natasha, and thank god they’d given him a shirt (a thin tank top, but still). He stalked out of the room without looking back.

 

He debated going to the gym before Bucky caught up to him. “Steve—“

 

Steve whirled around, anger burning through him. “What?”

 

Bucky swallowed, looking slightly alarmed, and took a step back. Steve noted with detached wonder that he was still wearing the doodled-on jeans. “Someone told me that we should. Talk about this.”

 

“What’s there to talk about?” Steve muttered. He didn’t wait for an answer as he turned on heel and continued walking.

 

And of course, Bucky was following him. “You can’t run forever, you know.”

 

“What, like you?” Steve snapped.

 

He could hear Bucky falter. “I—I don’t.”

 

“If I’m running, then you sure as fuck are running twice as fast. Leave me alone, Barnes.”

 

Somehow, those words were damaging enough to make Bucky stop following him. The ache in Steve’s chest expanded tenfold, and he collapsed as soon as he got to his room, bitter tears struggling to the surface.

 

He shoved it all down.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said at breakfast the next day. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

 

Bucky looked at him warily. “Yes, you did.”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“You’re allowed to disagree with me. That is not invalidating my choices,” Bucky said lowly, but he was frustrated.

 

“Okay,” Steve agreed. At this point, he just wanted the fighting to stop. “Sorry.”

 

“Did you just get Steve to back down from a fight?” Wanda asked in a teasing voice as she sat down across from Bucky. “Color me impressed.”

 

Bucky smiled at her. “Been doing that since I was six.”

 

Steve scoffed. “Please. Like you were successful before we were fifteen.”

 

“I was!” Bucky protested as Steve sat down next to him.

 

“Name one time.”

 

Bucky gave him a look. “That one time Mrs. Hendrickson was about to slap me with a ruler for something that Blake kid did, and I told you to cool it.” He started holding up his fingers. “When we were walking home and that girl called you a fairy and I dragged you off. Oh, and remember—“

 

“Alright, I get the point,” Steve grumbled as Wanda laughed.

 

“Are we telling embarrassing stories about Steve?” Clint asked, sitting down next to Wanda.

 

“You’re awake?” Wanda said in surprise. “It’s early.”

 

Clint looked offended. “Fuck off. I can wake up as early as I want.”

 

“We were embarrassing Steve,” Wanda confirmed with an eye roll. Steve glared at his eggs.

 

“Wanna hear about the first time he got drunk?” Bucky asked with a slow smirk.

 

“Do I ever!” Clint said happily. “Sam, you’ve gotta hear this!” Sam slinked over from where he’d been glaring at Bucky from the salad bar, hiding behind Anaya. He sat down at their table reluctantly.

 

Bucky launched into the story with as much expressiveness as he’d used when he’d relayed it to the Howling Commandos. Steve shoveled eggs into his mouth in annoyance, but he was so fucking happy that Bucky was interacting easily with his friends that Bucky probably could’ve said anything he wanted.

 

Bucky finished eating and paused his story, turning to Steve and offering him a sharpie and his arm. “It’s fading,” he explained, nodding at the lines Steve had drawn, like, three days ago. It was indeed fading. Steve uncapped the pen and set to work as Bucky went back to telling embarrassing stories. Steve changed the design a little bit, and he got slightly carried away and ended up drawing from Bucky’s wrist to the inside of his elbow before Bucky was done with his stories.

 

By the end of breakfast, everyone was laughing at Bucky’s stories (even Sam, although the laughs were given begrudgingly), and Bucky’s arm was half-covered in ink.

 

“Oops,” Steve said when Bucky glanced down.

 

“I like it,” Bucky declared, taking the pen back. Steve ducked his head to hide a smile. “Hey. You ready to erase more words?”

 

Steve’s smile immediately faded. “Uh. Sure.”

 

Bucky shot another smile at Wanda, and she nodded. “We didn’t erase any more while you were gone, so we probably have another week together.”

 

“Yay,” Steve said weakly.

 

Bucky linked their fingers together as they stood, and Wanda nodded at them, trying to hide a tiny smile. Sam groaned as he stood up to follow them.

 

“What the fuck?” Clint demanded. “Do I smell bad or some shit?”

 

“Yes,” they all said in unison, and Clint squawked, affronted.

 

“I’m gonna go sit with the badass personal trainers instead then,” Clint said with a dignified sniff. Sam snickered as he walked off, swishing his hips with deliberate exaggeration.

 

“Let’s go,” Wanda said after Clint sat down and resolutely didn’t look in their direction.

 

So, Wanda erased another word from Bucky’s head without much difficulty. She was getting good at it.

 

When she was finished, she crouched down to look Bucky in the eye. “Do you want to try a test?”

 

Bucky hummed dazedly.

 

“I’ll say the first six words. We’ll see how you react. How’s that sound?”

 

“Good t’me,” Bucky mumbled. He squeezed Steve’s hand.

 

Wanda took a deep breath and whispered the words quickly, “желание, ржаветь, семнадцать, рассвет, печь, девять.”

 

Bucky blinked. “Nothing,” he said, a slow grin spreading across his features. “Nothing at all. May as well be gibberish.”

 

Steve’s breath stuttered in his throat. He felt dizzy with relief. Wanda clapped her hands delightedly. “And only four to go.”

 

Sam took Wanda aside to talk to her in a low voice, so Steve turned to Bucky. “Hey, what about the memories that you’re losing with the words?”

 

Bucky smiled sadly. “I’ve been having a few separate sessions with Wanda. I told her before she got rid of the first word that I was worried about certain memories. She made sure I had them all afterwards.”

 

The first word was _longing_. Who the fuck had Bucky been longing for? Steve tried to hide the flash of hurt.

 

Bucky saw it anyways. “Hey. I didn’t want you to see those sessions. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I get... emotional.”

 

“That’s what I’m here for, you fucking jerk,” Steve muttered, bringing up his injured hand to grab the back of Bucky’s neck lightly.

 

“Punk,” Bucky returned, his lips quirking. “Fine. You can be here for this one. It won’t be too bad of a session. But the others...”

 

“If... If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave you alone,” Steve said slowly, even though the words physically hurt him to say.

 

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “Stay.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Sam and Wanda turned back to them. “Oh. Is Steve staying for this one?” Wanda asked.

 

Steve closed his eyes for a second. “Did everyone else know about this?”

 

“Just us,” Sam said.

 

What the fuck. Bucky and Sam hated each other.

 

“Mostly out of convenience,” Bucky added, and Sam nodded vigorously as they shot each other mutually venomous glares. Steve kind of wanted to roll his eyes.

 

But then Wanda was standing directly in front of Bucky again. “This is an easy one today. Do you remember your ninth birthday?”

 

Bucky nodded slowly. “Yeah. We spent the day fucking around at the docks. Got in trouble.” Steve smiled fondly as the memory came back to him.

 

“How about Steve’s ninth birthday?”

 

Bucky straightened a little bit, shooting Steve a little smile. “We went to that bakery, and we convinced each other to steal a cookie, right?”

 

Steve laughed. “Oh my god. I forgot about that.”

 

“And then we got caught, but Mr. Green let us have the cookie anyway since it was your birthday, but then he made us clean his windows for _weeks_.”

 

“That was horrible. I think I was coughing for the entire summer after that.”

 

“You were. Made it hard to sleep.”

 

Wanda cleared her throat. “Hate to darken the mood, but do you remember your ninth kill?”

 

Bucky’s expression dimmed. “It wasn’t a snipe, was it?” he asked quietly.

 

Wanda shook her head.

 

“Then no.”

 

“Do you want it back?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand so hard that it hurt as Wanda brought her hands up. A minute later, Bucky was breathing harshly, extracting his hand from Steve’s grasp and scooting away. Steve felt cold, but he knew better than to move closer to Bucky.

 

“That’s all you were worried about forgetting,” Wanda said quietly as Bucky bowed his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

 

“Thank you,” he croaked.

 

Sam checked Wanda over for any pain while Steve watched Bucky quietly break down. When Bucky straightened, he looked sad but not blank, which was both horrible and wonderful. “Strangled,” Bucky whispered. “I strangled the ninth person I killed. That was before I was even brainwashed to do it.”

 

“Buck, we both know that propaganda is a form of brainwashing, and we both fell for it.”

 

“I didn’t,” Bucky muttered. “I got drafted.”

 

Steve flinched in shock. “I—what?”

 

“I. Got. Drafted.”

 

They stared at each other. “You—you never told me that,” Steve said numbly.

 

“I didn’t want to,” Bucky said evenly. “You would’ve hated me. Thought I was a coward.” Bucky spread his arm out and gave a terrible, bitter laugh. “But now you think so anyway, so it’s not like it matters.”

 

“James Buchanan Barnes, you listen to me,” Steve said lowly. Bucky tensed like he was bracing for a blow. “You are the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

 

Bucky looked at him sharply. “What.”

 

Steve blinked back a few tears. “You got drafted, and... and you stayed. You had the opportunity to go home. You stayed. After you were tortured.”

 

Bucky gave him a weird look. “Steve, the only reason I’ve ever chosen to fight any battle in my life is because of _you_. You gotta know that. I go where you go.”

 

Steve closed his eyes. “No, you don’t.”

 

Bucky dropped into silence for a moment. “Any reason I’ve ever left is because of you too. I’ve been trying to keep you safe.”

 

Great. They were back on this again. Steve shook his head jerkily a few times. “We’re talking about you.”

 

“Are we?” Bucky grumbled under his breath dryly.

 

“You never asked for a war,” Steve whispered. “You got _drafted_ and ended up being the Winter Soldier? Fuck, you wouldn’t have stayed if I hadn’t stayed. This is my—“

 

“Do not say this is your fault,” Bucky interrupted, his eyes flashing with rage. “It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. It’s Hydra’s fault.”

 

“Bucky.”

 

“Stevie.”

 

Steve got to his feet and clenched his fists a few times. “Fighting was never your identity. It was just mine.”

 

Bucky’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t say anything.

 

“This isn’t fair.”

 

“We both learned that fair doesn’t exist a long time ago.”

 

“You’ve gotta stop fighting,” Steve begged, his voice breaking. “It’s not you. It was never you.”

 

“Stevie, hey. Just because I never wanted a war doesn’t mean I’m not a fighter, okay?” Bucky said. “We both are. We’re both fighters.”

 

“In different ways,” Steve said, his mind racing. “You don’t want another metal arm, do you?”

 

Bucky blinked in surprise, but he shook his head slowly. “I don’t.”

 

“Because you don’t want to hurt people.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

Steve raked a hand through his hair. He walked over to Bucky and dropped his voice so quietly that he could barely hear himself. “Do you think we’d really ever be able to live in a world without violence?”

 

Bucky circled his hand around Steve’s wrist. “Yes.”

 

“How?”

 

“If I can’t believe that, we may as well both go into cryo and never come out.”

 

Steve wiped at his eyes with his free arm, vigorously pretending that he hadn’t. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed.

 

“Well, you’re in luck. ‘Cause I have a few ideas.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Bucky smiled a tentative, sad smile. “After we fix my fucking head, roads are gonna open up.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve’s phone rang, and he checked the caller ID.

 

He nearly dropped the phone at the sight of **TONY STANK** flashing on his screen. Steve picked up with shaking fingers. “Tony?”

 

“Hey, Rogers. I figured you were just a phone call away, which is crazy because I totally shoved this Grandpa-Phone under my bed for nearly eight months, and now I’m using it. Just checking in. The children are doing fine. I’ve gotta say, split custody really doesn’t suit us, but I understand with the whole messy nature of the divorce proceedings, and—“

 

“Fuck, Tony, slow down,” Steve begged, staggering over to the nearest wall so that he could slide down to the floor unobtrusively. “You’re doing that thing where you try to make serious shit a joke to make it easier.”

 

“Would you rather it be harder?”

 

Steve paused. “Actually, you’re right. Carry on.”

 

“Excellent. Well, I know your boyfriend is dealing with some shit.”

 

“He’s not—“

 

“And I was wondering if you wanted my help.”

 

Steve closed his mouth with a click, and scary silence descended on them.

 

“Rogers?” Tony said. “Steve?”

 

“You want to help Bucky?” Steve said distantly. “Why?”

 

“Look, I’m not saying I’m about to hold up a sign that says ‘Number One Winter Soldier Fan,’ but I’m offering an olive branch. You _said_ you wanted to try to fix things. You _said_. Friday, Steve said that, right?”

 

“ _Indeed, sir_.”

 

“So, you said you wanted to fix things. Well, I happen to remember how stubborn and stupid you are, so I’m making the first move like the daring gentleman I am.”

 

“You...” Steve whispered faintly.

 

“I’m not saying I have any desire at all to see Barnes. Because I don’t. I honestly have no idea what I’d do if I saw him. I mean, I’m kind of more angry at you for lying to me, but I also wasn’t friends with Barnes before that whole betrayal jazz. I’m getting off topic. The point is: I can be a good person, and I want to help a crazy person not be a crazy person anymore.”

 

“He’s not crazy,” Steve said quietly.

 

Tony groaned. “Fine. I want to be completely sure that he’s not going to hurt anybody else. And if that means helping you decondition him? I’m game, Rogers.”

 

“You’re unbelievable,” Steve said, mostly hysterical and slightly speechless. “I want us to... I want us to be okay again.”

 

“I know,” Tony said softly. “But we can’t go back. You just—completely, totally, absolutely destroyed the trust we’d built up.”

 

“I know, god. I’m the shittiest person in the entire world.”

 

“Be honest, Rogers. We’re tied for first.”

 

“No, you’ve always been a better man than me.”

 

Tony scoffed. “Nope. I reject that statement in its entirety.”

 

“No, no, listen. Even during Sokovia. You were trying to fight for an end. You were trying to find a means for peace. And I just. I have always been too fucked up to want the fight to end. I’m fucking terrified of the idea of peace, and there you were striving for it. See? You were better than me even in your darkest moment.”

 

“Yikes,” Tony said, and then dropped into silence, evidently a little bit speechless as well. He cleared his throat after a few minutes. “Well, I’m refining this thing I was working on, and then I’m coming to Wakanda to give it to T’Challa so that I don’t have to see you or any other of the rat bastards who betrayed me.”

 

“Well. I deserved that.”

 

Tony snickered a little bit, and something in Steve’s chest started to loosen. “Also, I am so mad at you for going behind my back with His Majesty. He was mine before he was yours.”

 

“Ohhhh, possessive, are we?” Steve teased.

 

Tony gasped theatrically. “Rogers, not in front of the children.” Steve huffed a little laugh. “Anyways. That was it. I’ll call you if I feel the need to tell you how much you ruined my life again. Bye.”

 

“Goodbye, Tony. I’m glad we’re trying to fix it.”

 

“Yep. Me too. Anyways. I’m hanging up,” Tony finished awkwardly, and the line disconnected.

 

Steve let his head thunk back onto the wall.

 

“If you use the wall as your newest punching bag...” a voice warned lowly, and Steve looked up to see Anaya, who was glaring at him from the treadmills, but there also seemed to be a line of worry on her forehead.

 

Steve shook his head. “I’ll let you know if I start to get creative with it,” he said dryly. “And I’m not angry right now.”

 

“Oh?” Anaya said in disbelief. Steve didn’t blame her. He was kind of shocked himself.

 

“No. I’m—I’m feeling optimistic, maybe. For the first time in—ever.”

 

“I would say I am happy for you, but I also despise you with a passion,” Anaya said with a flick of her hair.

 

Steve laughed softly. “Do you need any help?”

 

“With what?”

 

Steve nodded at the treadmills.

 

Anaya rolled her eyes. “This is my job.”

 

“Alright. I’ll stay out of your way, then.”

 

“You better.”

 

Steve closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, which was still sweaty from his run. Tony was going to help them. Tony didn’t trust him anymore. Tony wanted to make things better again.

 

Anaya snapped her fingers in front of Steve’s face. Steve blinked at her in surprise. “You were doing that thing.”

 

“What thing?”

 

“Where you go all blank. It freaks me out.”

 

“Oh. Sorry.”

 

Anaya shrugged and walked over to the weights.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Anaya straightened when they heard footsteps approaching, and a moment later, Bucky and Clint walked into the gym, in the middle of a heated discussion.

 

“No, no, listen. Arrows are so much more damaging. You can’t pull them out without—“

 

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky cut in, frowning. “But you also have a super delayed reloading speed. And what happens when you fucking run out of arrows?”

 

Clint mimed smashing something. “Use the bow.”

 

“That’s even less useful.”

 

“How are guns useful in a nonlethal situation?”

 

Bucky arched an unimpressed eyebrow. “You can literally shoot them anywhere nonlethal.”

 

Clint frowned. “Oh. Right.”

 

“See? Guns are better.”

 

Clint furrowed his brows. “But—“

 

“No buts. I’m right.”

 

“No, no, c’mon, dude. You’re forgetting _the aesthetic_.”

 

“The what?”

 

“The aesthetic. Style trumps efficiency any day.”

 

Bucky’s lips twitched upwards in amusement. “Okay, sure.” He swept his eyes over the room and finally seemed to notice Anaya and Steve. “Oh. Hey, guys.” His brows pinched together as he looked at Steve. “You okay?”

 

“Never better,” Steve muttered, debating how much he wanted to tell Bucky about the phone call.

 

“Anaya!” Clint was saying. “I think I fucked up my forearm.”

 

“Do you need me to take a look?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

As Clint stuck his arm out in Anaya’s general direction, Bucky walked over to Steve and sat down in front of him. “What’s up?”

 

“You making friends?” Steve asked, nodding at Clint.

 

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “He legitimately thinks arrows are superior to guns.”

 

“You _like_ him.”

 

“He’s grouchy and whiny.”

 

Steve smiled, and Bucky pretended to scowl harder. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

 

Bucky glared at him. “Oh? Who would that be?”

 

“Just some asshole I know from when I grew up. He can be kind of a bitch sometimes, and I’m totally stuck with him, but he’s also my best friend.”

 

“Sounds like a real loser,” Bucky noted.

 

“Yeah. But he’s _my_ loser.”

 

Despite trying to look annoyed, Bucky’s eyes crinkled. “Why are you sitting on the floor?” he pressed after a moment.

 

Steve’s smile faded. “Well. Tony called me.”

 

Bucky blinked and looked away. “Oh.”

 

“He wants... He wants to help us.”

 

Bucky’s gaze snapped back to Steve. “What?”

 

“He wants to help with the deconditioning.”

 

Bucky looked so thoroughly bewildered that Steve reached out a hand to steady him. “ _Why?_ ”

 

“You’re not the only one who wants to protect people,” Steve said quietly. “He doesn’t want you to be the Winter Soldier again. I think it’s his way of mourning his parents. By fixing something so that no one else will have to suffer the same way his family did.”

 

Bucky fell into silence.

 

Steve backtracked immediately. “And it wasn’t your fault at all, but I think the only thing he can see you as is a threat.”

 

“I am a threat,” Bucky reminded Steve. “I still killed them.”

 

Steve kind of wanted to call Natasha for advice on the guilt thing, since Steve was blatantly terrible at dealing with his own guilt. “Buck—“

 

Bucky shook off Steve’s hand. “What does Stark have in mind?”

 

Steve stared at him for a moment and decided not to press for now. “I don’t really know. He said he was working on something already, though.”

 

Bucky watched Steve for a moment. “I’m still going back under after Wanda finishes with the words. You can wake me up when you’ve figured it all out.”

 

Steve’s lungs constricted as a good ninety percent of his optimism vanished. “I—o-okay.”

 

Bucky gave him a pitying look, and Steve felt his expression immediately shut down. “Stevie—“

 

“No,” Steve interrupted, getting to his feet. Bucky Barnes was absolutely not allowed to pity him. How fucking _dare_ he? Steve stalked over to his punching bag, but Bucky grabbed his arm in a death grip.

 

“Wrap. Your. Fucking. Knuckles,” Bucky ground out with such dark vehemence that Steve faltered.

 

Steve squared his shoulders. “You can’t protect me from myself,” he snapped.

 

“Watch me,” Bucky snarled.

 

Steve felt frozen as Bucky stalked over to Anaya and then back to Steve with a roll of bandages. Bucky wrapped Steve’s hands with jerky, furious movements.

 

“You’re not allowed to do this again when I go back under,” Bucky growled when he was finished.

 

“Funny enough, you don’t actually have a say in that.”

 

Bucky took a deep, quavering breath. “ _Fuck you_ , Rogers.”

 

Steve bared his teeth and forced himself to turn to the punching bag. He did this so that he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting anyone else, and look at what he was doing. Bucky was the _least_ deserving person to take the brunt of his anger. He had to stop. He let his fist fly and was immediately disappointed by the lack of pain in his knuckles.

 

Bucky walked over so that he was standing in Steve’s peripheral. “You don’t have to hurt yourself to release your goddamn anger.”

 

Steve ignored him, even as his fury flared.

 

“You’re the last person I’d expect to let violence become you.”

 

“Then you clearly don’t know me at all,” Steve hissed through gritted teeth.

 

Bucky flinched. Steve _hated_ himself. “Keep telling yourself that,” Bucky whispered, eyes flashing. “I know you’re having some sort of goddamn midlife identity crisis, and if it makes you feel better to unload that _bullshit_ on me, then go right a-fucking-head.”

 

Steve stopped, leaning heavily on the punching bag. “Shut up,” he croaked weakly, blinking back a few sudden tears. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t get to—“

 

“Don’t get to what? Call you out on your obvious bullshit?”

 

“No!” Steve exploded. “Because you’ve been gone for _five fucking years_ of my life, and you don’t know anymore.”

 

Bucky’s eyes went wide. “You think you’re _special_ because you survived on your own?”

 

“No.”

 

But Bucky ignored him. “How about _my_ time alone? Huh? Stop being so melodramatic. I was busy being _tortured_ while you were living in a high rise apartment trying to forget about me.”

 

The gym fell eerily silent. Steve dropped his hands.

 

Bucky seemed to finally realize what he’d said. His lips parted slightly. “Shit, Steve, wait. I didn’t—“

 

Steve wiped at his face roughly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “God, I—I—I c-can’t—“ _do anything right_ , he wanted to finish, but his throat had closed up.

 

Bucky reached forward and grabbed his wrist, but Steve jerked back and staggered several steps away. “Steve, wait, _please_ —“

 

“No, fuck, you’re. You’re fucking right. I’m—I’m—“ Steve covered his mouth with his hand and wondered if it was physically possible to choke himself to death like this.

 

“I’m not, I’m so fucking wrong, I’m so sorry, I—“

 

“Stop,” Steve begged. Peggy’s voice echoed in his head: _You’re always so dramatic_. He was, wasn’t he? He was being such a fucking idiot.

 

Steve’s back hit the wall, and his knees gave out pretty suddenly, and then he was on the floor again, trying desperately not to cry, because what _right_ did he have? Bucky had survived seventy years of torture, no thanks to Steve, and Steve was freaking out over the idea of being a person? He was fucking unbelievable.

 

Bucky crouched down in front of him, and his eyes were desperate. “No, Stevie, c’mon.”

 

“I didn’t look for you,” Steve gasped. His vision swam, and he blinked furiously. “The only thing I could fucking think about was how much I wanted to die, and I didn’t even look for you. I’m s-so selfish.”

 

“You didn’t know,” Bucky whispered, pained. “It isn’t your fault.”

 

“Like hell,” Steve spat angrily. “You were _tortured_ for _seventy years_.”

 

Bucky bit his lip. “Not continuously. It was probably more like five years, Steve. I was exaggerating. I—“

 

Steve shook his head. “Don’t you fucking dare downplay what you had to go through.”

 

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “I won’t if you won’t.”

 

“I slept for a while and got lonely and managed to get fucked in the head. That’s _nothing_.”

 

“You died, Steve,” Bucky said firmly, but his voice was gentle. “You died and got woken up when you clearly didn’t want to into a world that rejects every part of you.”

 

Steve choked on a sob, and he hated himself even more. “You were tortured until you _begged_ to forget everything,” he pointed out, because he knew that. He’d read the files. _The Soldier has requested complete memory wipe_.

 

Bucky was starting to cry now too. “You were betrayed by the one goddamn organization that you thought you could trust.”

 

“You got told that killing those people was the right thing to do.”

 

Bucky wiped furiously at his eyes. “You forgot how to be a person too.”

 

Neither of them seemed to be capable of constructing a sentence anymore through the fucking tears, and Bucky was the first to try to bridge the gap between them, like he always was. He reached out, and they clung to each other as they cried. Steve pressed his face into Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky nestled himself into Steve’s chest, and Steve didn’t ever want to move again in his entire life.

 

“Yikes,” Clint whispered to Anaya.

 

“We should leave,” Anaya whispered back.

 

“Oh. Shit. You’re right.”

 

Steve didn’t even have it in him to feel grateful as they hastily left the gym. He felt _awful_.

 

“It’s never gonna get better,” Bucky whispered hoarsely. “Is it?”

 

Steve didn’t answer. He didn’t know how.

 

“Y-you could come with me, y’know,” Bucky added. “Into cryo.”

 

“C-can’t,” Steve managed. “Selfish.”

 

“You’re allowed. You d-don’t owe them _shit_.”

 

Steve just shook his head a little bit.

 

Bucky pulled back, scrubbing at his face. “Sometimes, I wish you were _more_ selfish.”

 

“No, no,” Steve croaked. “I can’t—I don’t—“

 

“You can.”

 

Steve rubbed his swollen eyes in exhaustion. “Will you try?” he finally asked. Bucky looked at him blankly. “To get better? Even if you don’t think we will?”

 

Bucky’s expression softened. “End of the line, pal. I’ll try anything you want me to.”

 

Steve deflated a little bit. “Okay.”

 

“You’ll try too?”

 

“Together,” Steve murmured, running his hand through Bucky’s hair. “We’ll try it together.”

 

* * *

 

 

They erased _benign_ , and Bucky didn’t forget any specific memory, although he did admit that Brooklyn seemed fuzzier than it had, so Wanda helped sharpen it.

 

The next word was _homecoming_. Steve didn’t know how he felt about that.

 

Bucky apparently felt the need to prepare Steve, or something like that, because he took Steve aside before the session.

 

“Look,” he said quietly, “I don’t want you to be blindsided, but I may forget meeting you again.”

 

Steve blinked a few times. “What?”

 

Bucky looked away. “This word. It—you’re the only thing I can think about when I hear it, okay?”

 

_Homecoming._

 

Steve was left completely speechless, but this was something that came as an instinct to him. He reached out and wound his arms around Bucky’s back, pulling him close. Bucky let out a breath, and they automatically let their foreheads rest against each other.

 

Bucky thought that Steve was his home. That much was unmistakable, from what he’d said.

 

Bucky sighed, and his lips parted ever so slightly, and Steve wanted to trace the curves of Bucky’s mouth with his tongue.

 

Wait.

 

_What the fuck._

 

The thought was sudden and completely all consuming, and he wanted to kiss Bucky so badly that he didn’t think he could breathe properly anymore.

 

Bucky. His best friend.

 

He wanted nothing more in the whole expanse of the world than to lean in and press their mouths together, and the urge was so intense and all encompassing that he froze.

 

This was coming out of nowhere.

 

Or was it? Had Steve wanted to kiss Bucky for his entire life? Maybe. There were quite a lot of things that Steve refused to think about. It wouldn’t be shocking if he’d managed to shut down these types of thoughts for over ninety years.

 

Steve was abruptly hyper-aware of every place they were touching. For the first time, he noticed that his grip on Bucky’s waist was... _possessive_. It was a clear-as-day gesture that screamed, _This is MY person. MINE_. Had it been this way all along?

 

Steve had never ever wanted to share Bucky with anyone else in any way, which was completely impractical and utterly pathetic, and was _this_ how those feelings manifested?

 

 _It made sense_ , was all that Steve could stupidly think as his breathing got slightly shallower. Steve had always belonged to Bucky. He’d always wanted Bucky to belong to him. It was over ninety years of tangled attachments and devotion and love making itself crisper in his ever-so fucked up brain. It—it made sense. It wasn’t even surprising.

 

It was just—terrifying.

 

And of course, Bucky noticed.

 

He grabbed Steve’s wrist and brought his hand up to his neck, and Steve automatically reached for his pulse. “You okay?” Bucky whispered searchingly.

 

Steve swallowed roughly. “You know I love you, right?”

 

Bucky’s expression softened, but the silence stretched out for a moment too long, and Steve started to panic. Had he said it in a condemning way? Bucky couldn’t know about how consuming the feeling was. He couldn’t know that Steve wasn’t really looking at him like a _brother_ right now, could he? But Bucky eventually whispered, “Yeah, I... I think I do. Could you just... remind me? Every now and then?”

 

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve choked out. “You’re—“ _You’re my home too_.

 

Bucky heard the unfinished sentence and grabbed the back of his neck. Steve sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes flicking between Bucky’s eyes and lips for an instant before his own eyes fluttered shut. Fuck, this was bad.

 

Steve felt a little bit overwhelmed, and he kind of wanted to sit down. But he also didn’t want to move ever again because they were almost completely pressed against each other, and maybe Steve’s heart had never thawed from the defrosting, but this warmth felt like it could maybe do the trick.

 

But Bucky stepped away and led them over to Sam and Wanda. Wanda had a carefully blank expression on her face, but Sam didn’t even bother to hide his wide eyes. Steve felt himself flush. They’d... seen... whatever that was.

 

Sam obviously noticed that Steve was a little shaken and gave him a concerned look. “You okay, Sour Punch?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes as he sat next to Bucky in their usual position. “Fuck off.”

 

“What’s my candy nickname?” Wanda asked.

 

Sam shrugged, but the way his eyes lit up suggested that he had been thinking about this for a while. “You’re Nerds because those are my favorite and you’re my favorite. And also a nerd.”

 

“Aw,” Wanda said, amused.

 

“Do I get a nickname?” Bucky asked, and it may have been the first time he’d spoken to Sam directly since Steve hadn’t been able to get out of bed that one day.

 

“No,” Sam said with a glare.

 

“You’re lying,” Bucky shot back easily, a smirk twisting his lips.

 

(Steve really should not be thinking about Bucky’s lips again.)

 

“Am not,” Sam protested, shooting Steve an SOS look. But Steve was in no condition to help anyone right now.

 

“C’mon, Wilson, what is it?” Bucky asked, leaning forward.

 

Sam glowered at Bucky as he reluctantly said, “Sour Patch.”

 

Steve huffed a laugh as Bucky tried to scowl, but his eyes were alight. “I figured you’d go with Popsicle, or something,” Steve said.

 

Sam grinned. “I definitely considered that. Among other frozen delicacies. But consider this: Sour, sweet, gone.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, and Steve tried for another laugh, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Was there a different brand of Sour Patch? Sour, sweet, stay. That was catchier, with the alliteration. That—that was better.

 

“Shall we get down to business, Sour Patch?” Wanda teased.

 

“I’m ready when you are, Nerds,” Bucky snarked back warmly.

 

Steve watched apprehensively as Wanda erased the word. Bucky blinked a few times in confusion when she pulled away and glanced around.

 

“How many gaps?” Wanda asked quietly.

 

Bucky’s eyes went a little glazed. “A lot,” he murmured. His gaze slid over to Steve, and he frowned. “A _lot_.”

 

“Then let’s get started.” She started wringing her hands, and Steve hunched his shoulders and stared at his lap. “Do you remember meeting Steve?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered. “He was getting the shit beat out of him.”

 

Steve scowled. “Was _not_. I had ‘em—“

 

“—on the ropes, I know,” Bucky finished with a half-exasperated sigh.

 

He could practically hear Sam’s eye roll. Wanda just moved on and asked, “How about when he rescued you from Azzano?”

 

“Shit,” Bucky whispered, and Steve glanced over to watch him rake a stressed hand through his hair. “He got me out?”

 

Steve looked away again. “He did,” Wanda confirmed. “He mounted a one-man suicide mission into enemy territory on the small chance that you were still alive.”

 

Bucky looked over at Steve, and his eyes were shining. “You—you did that? For me?”

 

Steve shrugged in discomfort. “You’re worth it all, Buck.”

 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and laced their fingers together tightly. Steve swallowed hard and tried not to be so hyper-aware of how they were touching. “I want it back,” Bucky said hoarsely. “Please.”

 

“I know,” Wanda said and raised her hands again. She worked on returning the memory, and Steve felt himself go distant as he was launched into his memory of finding Bucky on that fucking table. He’d been tortured and broken and delusional, but still so beautiful. Always so beautiful. And worth ten times all the bones in Steve’s new body.

 

Steve knew Bucky had gotten the memory back when he turned into Steve and tucked himself under Steve’s chin. Steve brought his free hand to clutch the back of Bucky’s shirt and tried desperately not to think about how much they were touching. They touched all the time. This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

 

Wanda took a deep, quavering breath. “Do you remember meeting him as the Winter Soldier? On the—highway?” She turned to Sam in question.

 

“On the highway,” Sam confirmed, glaring at Bucky with as much heat as he could muster, which was not the usual amount of hatred in his looks thrown in Bucky’s direction. “When you ripped out my steering wheel and almost killed all of us.”

 

Steve felt Bucky swallow roughly. “Yeah. I remember that.”

 

Steve was kind of thankful that that memory hadn’t been associated with homecoming. How fucked up would that be? Although, Steve may or may not associate that memory with homecoming. Which. Wasn’t fucked up or pathetic at all. Definitely not.

 

Wanda shot Bucky a small smile. “How about the helicarrier? Fighting with Steve there?”

 

“’Cause I’m with you to the end of the line,” Bucky mumbled. “I pulled you out of the water.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve whispered.

 

“Because I love you,” Bucky added.

 

Steve’s pulse sped up. “Yeah. Yeah. I love you too, Buck.” Maybe not in the same way, as it turns out, because apparently Steve loved Bucky in all ways possible, but. Whatever. Steve would figure out how to deal with this too.

 

Sam was looking at them with such wide eyes that Steve was distantly concerned. As Bucky continued to press his face into Steve’s collarbone, Sam mouthed, _WHAT THE FUCK_ , as incredulously as he could manage. Steve just blinked at him in exhaustion. He didn’t have the energy to go and explain how their love for each other worked.

 

Wanda also looked surprised, but she wasn’t as obvious about it as Sam. She cleared her throat. “Well. What about meeting him in Bucharest?”

 

“Nope,” Bucky said. “Can I have it back?”

 

“Yes,” Wanda said and raised her hands. Bucky shuddered against Steve and clung a little bit tighter. Wanda blinked back to the present. “Do you remember getting out of cryo a few weeks ago?”

 

“No,” Bucky whispered. “Not really.”

 

“You want it back?”

 

“Yes.”

 

So, Bucky started shivering harder, and Steve shifted them around to wrap Bucky fully in his arms.

 

Wanda dropped her arms, looking very tired. “Do you feel any more gaps?”

 

“No,” Bucky whispered. “I don’t know. You fixed all the ones that are important anyways.”

 

Steve tucked his face into Bucky’s hair and took a deep breath. He wanted... fuck, he didn’t know. He just _wanted_.

 

Bucky squirmed a little bit, and Steve let his arms drop. Bucky stood up and took a few steps back. “Let’s go eat. I’m hungry. Wanda, are you in? Let’s go eat.”

 

Steve stared at them in dumb silence as Bucky dragged Wanda out of the room.

 

“The fuck?” Sam muttered under his breath. He looked at Steve. “Did you two start fucking each other?”

 

Steve blinked once. “What?”

 

Sam stared at him. “Steve. Nobody gets all that touchy without sex being a part of the equation. And the public declarations of love? The _fuck_ , man?”

 

Steve glared. “Brotherly love,” he corrected, and his voice was absolutely _not_ bitter.

 

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Wait. Are you almost ready to admit you _don’t_ want it to be so brotherly?”

 

Fuck. Steve scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

Sam looked kind of ecstatic. “’Course it does! I’m gonna throw you a big gay party, and we’re gonna have glitter and fruity alcohol and pink decorations and dance to YMCA and be as stereotypically gay as possible, and then you’re gonna tell Barnes and finally be happy.”

 

That party... actually sounded kind of fun, but that was beside the point. “I’m not gay,” Steve pointed out stubbornly. “Peggy.”

 

Sam nodded. “And Sharon?”

 

Steve blinked. “What about Sharon?”

 

“You kissed her.”

 

Steve startled a little bit. “Oh. Right. I did do that.”

 

“You’re not in love with her, though, right?”

 

Steve shook his head, a little bit rattled by the idea. “I don’t know why I kissed her.”

 

Sam looked at him consideringly. “Have you talked to her since then?”

 

“No.”

 

“Maybe you should.”

 

Steve closed his eyes briefly. “Maybe,” he said noncommittally.

 

“So, bisexual,” Sam said.

 

“Bisexual,” Steve confirmed. “Buck-sexual,” he added with a little huff of amusement.

 

Sam laughed loudly. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “Did you actually just admit you want him through a _pun_?”

 

Steve shrugged. “I dunno.”

 

“You did,” Sam said in disbelief, but he looked so thoroughly delighted that Steve felt a smile start curling at his own lips. “I cannot believe you.”

 

“Captain Ameri-queer reporting for duty,” Steve added with a mock salute. “A bullet in the barrel of your best guy’s gun.” He threw in a saucy wink for effect, and Sam nearly doubled over in laughter.

 

“Stars _and_ stripes, am I right or am I right?” Sam gasped.

 

“We all knew this day was coming,” Steve went on, smirking. “I’ve been wearing _tights_ since the beginning.”

 

“You ever been to a gay bar?” Sam asked after a minute of laughter.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said with a shrug.

 

“Which century?”

 

Steve grinned. “Both? I’ve never been very confused when it comes to that shit, Sammy.”

 

“Holy fucking shit.” He looked at Steve with new interest. “Did Barnes know?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “He never went with me, but he knew.”

 

Sam nodded a few times. “Did he ever yell at you for it?”

 

Steve smiled humorlessly. “That was one subject that he was always quiet about. But, if anyone ever called me a fairy, Bucky always beat the shit out of them worse than usual, so he definitely didn’t think of me any different for it.”

 

“Huh,” Sam said, drawing the word out.

 

Steve stood and stretched, trying not to seriously dwell on these thoughts about Bucky. “I’m going to sleep.”

 

“Sleep-sleep or depression-sleep?” Sam asked.

 

Depression. That may have been the first time Steve had heard the word applied to himself. “Not sure yet.”

 

“I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

 

“Sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve awoke from his haze when there was a knock at his door. He raised himself up on an elbow and muttered, “’M fine, Sammy,” in the door’s general direction.

 

The door opened, and Steve was distantly surprised when Bucky stepped inside, looking completely distraught.

 

“Hey,” Steve said, pushing into a sitting position. “Hey, what happened?”

 

Bucky walked over to Steve and touched his cheek, searching his face. “I, uh—“ His voice was wobbly, and he cleared his throat. “Nightmare.”

 

Steve reached out and let his hands rest on Bucky’s waist. “You wanna talk about it?”

 

Steve genuinely expected a rejection, but Bucky just took a deep breath and looked away as he whispered, “You were a Hydra agent this entire time. Since the 30s. And—and you said the trigger words and made me go back. You took me back to them. And then you wiped me yourself.”

 

Steve felt so sick that he was rendered speechless for a moment. “That’s not real,” he whispered hoarsely.

 

“I know,” Bucky muttered, lip trembling. “I know it’s ridiculous, but it just felt so _real_.”

 

“I’m right here,” Steve said fiercely. “And I’m not a part of Hydra, and you are never going back to them. Not while I’m still alive.”

 

Bucky took a deep, shaking breath. “I don’t know.”

 

Steve searched Bucky’s face for a moment before reaching into his shirt collar and exposing the dog tags that he tried to wear at all times. “You remember when we switched?” he asked.

 

Bucky reached out and tentatively brushed a thumb over his own name. “I lost yours,” he whispered. “They took them away.”

 

“I know,” Steve said with a sad smile. “But these mean that I belong to you, okay? Not to the Secret Avengers. Not to the rest of the world. And definitely not to Hydra. I belong to _you_ , okay?”

 

“I know,” Bucky breathed, letting his forehead drop onto Steve’s shoulder. “I know. You’re right. You’re always right.”

 

They stayed like that in silence for a few moments.

 

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Bucky asked, lifting his head. “I need to remember that you’re real.”

 

Steve remembered from one of the files on the Winter Soldier that Hydra had used hallucinogens in their torturing. He wanted to murder every last one of those Hydra bastards, and his fingers twitched, but he managed to keep his rage down. “Yeah, Buck. Of course. You can sleep here anytime you want.”

 

Bucky nodded and climbed onto the other side of the bed.

 

Steve rolled onto his side to face Bucky, and Bucky considered Steve a moment before he turned his back to Steve and scooted back until he pressed against Steve’s chest, the dog tags trapped between them. Steve wound his arm around Bucky’s waist and tried not to feel overwhelmed. Because of course he’d noticed that Bucky hated having his back to anybody, and this was such a raw show of trust that Steve didn’t know what to do with himself.

 

“Just like old times?” Steve murmured into the back of Bucky’s neck.

 

“Brooklyn or the war?”

 

“The war,” Steve said. “You were the big spoon in Brooklyn.”

 

Bucky huffed a laugh. “I think I like you better as the big spoon.”

 

“I’ll be the big spoon as long as you want me to.”

 

Bucky shifted a little bit closer to Steve. “Good.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam nudged the door open a few hours later, presumably to check on Steve. But Steve and Bucky were both dead to the world, tangled in each other’s limbs, and Sam managed to back out of the room without waking either of them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve managed to keep his mounting panic at bay for almost a full twenty-four hours after he realized that he wanted to kiss his best friend.

 

He was impressed with himself for maintaining his composure for as long as he did, but that didn’t change the fact that his fingers were shaking and his breath was coming too fast when he locked himself inside the nearest empty room and fumbled with his phone.

 

“Steve?”

 

“Nat,” Steve choked out. “I c-c-can’t—“

 

“Hey, we’re okay. You’re not drowning. You’re alive, and you’re in Wakanda, and Barnes is awake, and you’re breathing, and you’re safe, okay?”

 

Steve took a few deep, shaking breaths. “I know. I—fuck—I know.”

 

“Then what is it?” Natasha asked, concern freely coating her tone.

 

Steve dropped his head between his knees, hoping it would help some blood rush back to his head to make him feel less dizzy. “It’s fucking stupid,” he managed.

 

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

 

Steve took another deep breath. “I don’t know how to explain.”

 

Natasha paused. “Just try your best, then.”

 

“Okay,” Steve whispered. “Okay.” He was still trembling all over, but his breathing had calmed down a little bit, and that was good enough to be able to speak. “You know how weird my relationship with Buck is, right?”

 

“I’ve seen the surface of it,” Natasha said hesitantly.

 

Steve barked out a sharp, bitter laugh. “I died for him and killed for him and became Captain America for him and gave it up for him.”

 

“Yeah, that.”

 

“That’s not it, though,” Steve said. “It gets worse. I’m fucking pathetic enough that I can’t be a person without him, and then I have the nerve to fucking want him just for myself for the rest of our lives.”

 

There was a beat of unnatural quiet. “Oh?”

 

Steve nodded miserably, even though Natasha couldn’t see. “Bucky’s always had other people who love him and want him, and I’ve always been jealous. I’ve always just wanted him to be... mine, or whatever, but I guess I never really seriously thought about how that can physically manifest or whatever.”

 

“And you know now?” Natasha asked, her voice going gentle as she realized where Steve was going with this, but Steve needed to say it out loud or it was going to consume him whole.

 

“Yes,” Steve breathed, raking a hand through his hair in distress. “I want him in—fuck—in every way a person could want another person. And—and—“

 

“And you think that Barnes only wants you in one way.”

 

“Yes,” Steve sighed. “Which is absolutely fine, but. I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Steve,” Natasha began softly. “Listen to me, okay? There is literally no chance in hell that Barnes is going to push you away if he knows that you want to kiss him sometimes. You two are way too codependent to let anything like that get between you, even if he doesn’t reciprocate. You have nothing to worry about other than the idea that you may not be able to kiss him if he doesn’t want you to. Okay?”

 

Rationally, Steve knew she was right. Of course she was right. Natasha was always right. “Or he could not want to belong to me,” he whispered anyway, and it was so fucking pathetic that this was the thing Steve was most terrified of. He was so fucking selfish, and he kind of wanted to bash his skull in with the nearest chair leg.

 

“Trust me,” Natasha said dryly. “He already belongs to you.”

 

“Does he?” Steve muttered darkly. The last he checked, Bucky belonged to the ice.

 

“Yep. And look, even if it’s not ever going to be belonging in a romantic sense, I know it’s what you want. You love Barnes in every way, right? Whatever he gives you is going to be enough eventually.”

 

Steve nodded rapidly. “I know you’re right, I know. I just. I’m panicking.”

 

“That’s what I’m here for. You know that.”

 

“I do. I definitely do.”

 

Natasha listened as Steve’s breathing slowly evened out. He felt a little bit better. He still kind of wanted to bash his skull in, but it was a manageable urge now.

 

“So, how about you?” Steve finally asked.

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, lifting his head and slumping back in his chair, exhausted. “What’s new with you?”

 

Steve could hear Natasha’s reluctant smile when she said, “I think I accidentally adopted a cat.”

 

Steve laughed a little bit. “Yeah?”

 

“His name is Liho. He’s cute.”

 

“What kind of cat?”

 

“Black.”

 

“Figures.”

 

Natasha huffed a laugh. “He’s my new best friend.”

 

“Wow. I resent that.”

 

“Well, you’re not here to compete for my affections, so you’re not allowed to complain.” Natasha paused, seemingly mulling that over. “Maybe I’ll invite you, Clint, and Liho over to my new place and organize an official tournament or something. It’d be entertaining, at the very least.”

 

Steve laughed again. “I would win.”

 

Natasha hummed. “I dunno. Liho’s got some serious moves.”

 

Steve’s smile went a little bit sad. “I miss you, Nat.”

 

“Me too... But we’re fixing it, right? You’ve talked to Tony?”

 

Steve chewed on his lip. “Yeah. He—he wants to help us. We’re not ready to trust each other again. Not even remotely, but—“

 

“It’s a start.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’m proud of you both, you know.”

 

“Aw, love you too, Nat.”

 

Natasha’s eye roll was almost audible. “I’m serious, you asshole.”

 

“I know. I’m proud of you too.”

 

“What for? I’ve literally done nothing.”

 

“You know that’s not true.”

 

“I guess,” she sighed. “Hey, I was thinking of spending Christmas in Wakanda.”

 

Steve perked up. “Really?”

 

“Yep,” she said with feigned nonchalance. “It’s a few days away, right?”

 

Steve blinked a few times. “I don’t know. I haven’t really looked at a calendar in a while.”

 

“Huh. Really? You’re weird.”

 

“Maybe so.”

 

“Well, Christmas.”

 

“Christmas.”

 

“I’m coming.”

 

“Good.”

 

“AndI’mbringingtherestoftheAvengers.”

 

Steve frowned. “What was that?” he asked in bemusement.

 

Natasha took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “Can I bring the rest of the Avengers?”

 

Steve dropped off into silence for a moment. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

 

“Yeah. Most of us are over the Accords. I mean. Maybe Rhodey and Tony aren’t completely chill with it, but the pain has eased up a bunch, I think.”

 

Steve swallowed roughly. “Would they try to bring any of us in?”

 

“It’s Christmas,” Natasha said, offended. “It’s not allowed.”

 

Steve smiled. “Bucky and Wanda don’t celebrate.”

 

“Right. They’re Jewish, right? When’s Hanukkah?”

 

Steve shrugged. “I didn’t know it was Christmas in a few days. How am I supposed to know when Hanukkah is?”

 

Natasha laughed. “I’m looking it up. Oh, damn, it already happened.”

 

“We must’ve missed it. I mean, we could celebrate it informally or something.”

 

“Yeah. They’d probably enjoy it.”

 

“And I know T’Challa doesn’t celebrate either, but who knows if he’ll have time to join us. He’s got king shit, like, all the time.”

 

“Neither does Vision, but he’ll get a kick out of it.”

 

“So, we’re doing this?” Steve asked quietly.

 

“Yes,” Natasha said firmly. “We’re going to get better right now. And don’t worry. I’ll make sure everyone is perfectly clear on the fact that we are not enemies. Especially not during Christmas.”

 

“Okay,” Steve sighed. “I’ll let the Secret Avengers know.”

 

“Cool. I’ll call you when we’re on our way.”

 

“Bring Liho.”

 

Natasha laughed. “Alright. I’ll bring him. But I can’t promise that he won’t destroy you.”

 

“It would be my honor to perish at his paws.”

 

“Careful, Steve,” Natasha teased. “He might hold you to that.”

 

“I’ll talk to you later, Nat.”

 

“Bye, Steve.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve decided not to plan his delivery of the Christmas news to the Secret Avengers, which, in hindsight, was probably a bas idea, but oh well. He had loads of bad ideas.

 

Everyone was gathered in the clubhouse room, even T’Challa, and Steve had no excuse to prolong it any further. Except that Bucky was half-asleep on him, bundled up in the most cozy sweats he’d been able to find (even though Wakanda was fucking hot), and it’d be a shame to wake him up, so really—

 

“Whatever is making you anxious,” Bucky mumbled, “is probably nothing.”

 

Yikes. Steve had forgotten how well Bucky knew him for a second. “Fine. You’re right. One sec.” Steve straightened a little bit, and Bucky reluctantly pushed into an upright position. “Guys?”

 

Everyone turned to look at him.

 

“I’ve got, um. News.”

 

Scott laughed. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

 

“Can it, Tic-Tac. Let the man speak,” Sam said.

 

Great. “So, apparently Christmas is in a few days.”

 

Scott’s eyes lit up. “Can I see Cassie?”

 

 _Oh, shit_. “Um.”

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” T’Challa said, sending Scott an understanding nod. Scott smiled so widely that Steve felt an unexpected burst of affection for him.

 

“What were you gonna say?” Clint asked Steve.

 

Steve blinked a few times. “Um. Right. Well. The thing is—“

 

“Spit it the fuck out,” Bucky grumbled. Steve kind of loved how grumpy he was, which was horrible and pathetic.

 

“NatiskindofbringingtheAvengerswithhertocelebratewithus.”

 

The Secret Avengers all stared at Steve blankly. “What,” Wanda said.

 

“Oh no,” Bucky mumbled, because of course _he’d_ caught it.

 

“Natasha may or may not be bringing the Avengers here to celebrate with us.”

 

T’Challa looked distantly offended. “Did she just invite herself? This is my home.”

 

Steve shrugged helplessly. “It’s Natasha.”

 

“Fair enough,” he sighed.

 

“They gonna kill us,” Sam said. “They gonna kill us hard.”

 

“Nat said she’d make them swear not to.”

 

“Great, because that makes it all better,” Bucky growled.

 

“Rhodey,” Sam said, his eyes going wide with panic. “He’s coming too?”

 

“Um. Probably?”

 

“I can’t deal with this shit.”

 

“It was not your fault,” T’Challa said.

 

Sam rolled his eyes and didn’t dignify that with a response.

 

“I think it’ll probably be good for us,” Steve whispered, shrinking in on himself. “How are we gonna get better if we don’t actively try to fix things?”

 

Clint stared at him incredulously. “Dude.”

 

“What?”

 

“Hypocrite,” Bucky explained.

 

“Oh. Right. Well, we’re working on it, and my shit isn’t the point right now. The point is, we were a family before it all went to shit, and I know the Avengers were the only family some of us had.”

 

T’Challa looked away, and Wanda bit her lip hard, and Sam and Clint exchanged glances. Scott looked weirdly guilty, and Bucky just didn’t look up from where he was glaring at his lap.

 

“I dragged you all into this, and none of you deserve to be isolated from your family, whether it’s the Avengers or someone else. I’m trying to fix something, for once in my life, and I think this is going to be a decent place to start.”

 

The silence dragged out.

 

“Also, Nat is bringing her cat, and I want to meet him,” Steve added like an afterthought.

 

“Nat has a cat?” Clint blurted out.

 

“His name is Liho.”

 

Clint scrubbed a hand across his face. “Damn.”

 

Steve wrung his hands a little bit. “So, are you guys okay with this? Or—um—do you want me to tell Nat to abort?”

 

“I don’t do Christmas,” Bucky pointed out. “And they all want me dead, so I think we should probably wrap up the trigger words before then and get me frozen so that we don’t have to deal with it.”

 

“I disagree,” Steve said, trying to keep the sudden wobble out of his voice.

 

“Too bad, Stevie. You don’t get a say.”

 

Steve flinched.

 

Wanda glanced at her phone. “I can’t finish it that quickly.”

 

“There’s only two more,” Bucky said, turning his glare on Wanda.

 

“And Christmas is tomorrow.”

 

Steve blinked in surprise. He probably should’ve checked the calendar after his conversation with Natasha.

 

Bucky shrunk in on himself. “I can’t be there.”

 

“But presents,” Clint pointed out.

 

“None of us have presents,” Sam said.

 

“Just you motherfuckers wait. I’ll pull something together.”

 

“Look, Buck,” Steve began tiredly. “You don’t have to be there if you’re going to be genuinely afraid the entire time, but I don’t think anything is gonna happen. And if it does, I won’t let them come near you.”

 

Bucky got to his feet and scowled at Steve. “This is exactly why I need to keep going under. If you’re gonna throw your own safety out the window for me, we need to be fucking separated.”

 

“I’ll do it regardless of whether or not you’re there,” Steve snapped. “So pick your poison.”

 

“I just want it all to stop!” Bucky shouted.

 

“You think you’re the only one?” Steve demanded, and Bucky tensed, seemingly recalling Steve’s readiness to die. Steve sighed, suddenly very tired. “If you want to go back under before Christmas, then fine. I can’t stop you.”

 

Bucky seemed to war with himself for a moment before he muttered, “Damn right,” and stalked from the room.

 

“Yikes,” Clint said. “Someone should probably go talk to him.”

 

No one moved, though.

 

“Fine. I’m on it,” Clint grumbled, heaving to his feet.

 

As soon as he left the room, Steve shook his head, shoving down his own feelings so that he could deal with everyone else. Sam was quickly spiraling into a panic and trying not to show it, and Steve knew how guilty he felt about the whole thing with Rhodey, but maybe they could start to fix it here. Maybe it was finally going to start getting better.

 

Steve was about to get to his feet to make sure Sam was okay when T’Challa held up a hand in Steve’s direction. “Allow me, Captain,” he said quietly. Steve hesitantly lowered his weight back down to the couch and watched T’Challa make his way over to Sam, murmuring something low enough that even Steve couldn’t pick it up with his super hearing.

 

Steve decided to leave them to it. T’Challa seemed pretty confident in getting Sam back to them. (That didn’t change the fact that Steve kept sending them anxious glances, but Sam was one of the best things to ever happen to Steve, and that tended to lead to shit like that.)

 

“Wanda?” Steve asked quietly. She had dropped off into an unnerving silence.

 

“They let them put me in a straight jacket,” she finally whispered.

 

Steve felt the anger start boiling under his skin again, but he shoved it away (for now). “I know.”

 

“They locked me up in the compound before then.”

 

“I know.”

 

“They are afraid of me.”

 

“They aren’t,” Steve whispered, reaching out. Wanda let him grab her hands. “They’re scared of everyone else. The world is afraid of you, and fear makes people hostile. They thought that was going to be the best way to protect you.”

 

Wanda glared darkly at him. “They were wrong.”

 

“I know,” Steve whispered. “It was the reason I didn’t try to come up with a compromise with Tony. That was taking it too far.”

 

Wanda relaxed slightly. After a pause, she whispered, “I still have nightmares about the straight jacket.”

 

Steve closed his eyes for a moment. “I know.”

 

“My _family_ did that to me. They locked me up.”

 

Steve locked eyes with Wanda before he said, “I completely understand if you don’t want to be there, okay? Do not feel like you have to see them.”

 

Wanda looked pained. “How is _that_ going to fix anything?”

 

God, Steve loved this kid so much. He wrapped his arms around her for a hug, and Wanda sighed. “Still, if you need an out at any time...”

 

“We should have a safe word.”

 

Steve felt his face go hot as he pulled away from the hug. “Right.”

 

Wanda laughed at him. “Your blush is too easy,” she said in amusement.

 

Steve groaned. “God, I know. What do you want it to be?”

 

Wanda shrugged. “I don’t know. Plum.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Reasons.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

Wanda smiled brightly at him. “Thank you, Steve.”

 

“What for?”

 

She shook her head, kind of helplessly. “You’re making sure we start to get better before you do. That’s... incredibly unhealthy, but also very kind.”

 

Steve lifted a shoulder in embarrassment. “Well, that’s my middle name.”

 

“Steve Incredibly-Unhealthy-But-Also-Very-Kind Rogers?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Wanda laughed again, and Steve felt something in his chest loosen. He glanced over at Sam and T’Challa, and Sam had his forehead resting on T’Challa’s shoulder as T’Challa ran his hand up and down Sam’s spine, still talking softly to him. Steve kind of wanted to give T’Challa a hug, but he resisted the urge and glanced at Scott, who was staring at his phone. Wanda followed his gaze and shoved him towards Scott.

 

Steve walked over and sat next to Scott. “You okay?”

 

Scott angled his phone to let Steve see a picture of a little girl that he assumed was Cassie. “I miss her so much,” he sighed.

 

“I really hope you get to see her,” Steve said.

 

“Me too. I don’t even know if her mother would let her come to Wakanda if we had the option, but we’ll see.”

 

“Yeah. We will.”

 

“Wanna see more pictures? She’s a real cute kid.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

So, Scott scrolled through his pictures, which were basically all Cassie and a few weird selfies of Scott with oddly sized things. Steve didn’t expect anything less, though. “Also, this is our pet ant.” A giant, dog-sized ant. Steve _really_ hadn’t expected anything less.

 

By the end of the afternoon, though, Steve was confident that the Secret Avengers were going to be okay with their company.

 

It was just Bucky in question now, but Steve hadn’t seen him since he’d walked out of the clubhouse room.

 

Steve decided to send him a text.

 

STEVE: Have you decided what you want to do yet?

 

BUCKY: I want you to leave me alone for five fucking minutes.

 

The response was almost immediate, and it hit like a slap to the face, so Steve dropped his phone and stewed in his own self-hatred for a few minutes before he headed to the gym.

 

And he knew it was a bad idea. He knew that Natasha would be able to figure out what he was doing based on the bandages that Steve would need to cover it up. But this was going to be the last time. He’d try to fix it later. He just... _right now_ , he needed the consistency of the pain and the blood to get him through tomorrow. (And, y’know, to feel like he was somehow repenting for hanging off Bucky every minute of every day, but that was a really fucked up thought, so he didn’t dwell on it.)

 

But this was going to be the last time, and then he was going to try to get better. He’d promised so many people.

 

Steve hit the punching bag and savored the immediate sting to his knuckles.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Steve, what the fuck,” Clint demanded an indeterminate amount of time later, physically dragging Steve away from the punching bag.

 

Steve blinked himself back to the present and glanced down at his hands. “Fuck.”

 

“Why,” Clint said tonelessly, even as he reached for the med kit, extracting the roll of gauze and the antiseptic and whatnot.

 

Steve stared blankly at the mess of his hands while Clint almost violently started to treat them, which hurt like hell, which was kind of what Steve wanted, which was really fucked up of him. “Don’t want to take it out on the Avengers,” Steve mumbled dazedly.

 

Clint let out a stressed breath. “Nobody is going to be stupid enough not to be able to tell that you’re doing this to yourself, you know?”

 

“Yeah. Better than hurting them, though.”

 

Clint didn’t say anything to that. He finished dressing the wounds and took a step back, and Steve noted guiltily that his hands were all bloodstained now. “I know what you’re going through right now,” he said quietly.

 

“Do you?” Steve said dryly, flexing his fingers to feel the lightning bolt of pain.

 

“Chronic depression. Suicidal thoughts. Anger. Guilt,” Clint said with a carefully dismissive shrug. “I’ve got it too, man.”

 

Steve shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Well. You seem incredibly well-adjusted.”

 

“I’m not, and I wasn’t. I didn’t know how to deal with it before.”

 

“How did you?”

 

Clint raked a hand through his hair, and then signed, _Alcohol_.

 

“Ah.” Steve swallowed, and his throat clicked. “How’d you get better?”

 

_This girl I knew stole my dog, and N-A-T kept pressuring me, and my brother was paralyzed, and I was forced to get my shit together. The girl who stole my dog helped a lot, actually. K-A-T-E. Stopped drinking. Started helping people again._

 

“You just... stopped?” Steve asked incredulously, and Clint laughed.

 

_No. I’ve relapsed four times._

 

Steve winced.

 

Clint cleared his throat and dropped his hands. “You find ways to cope.”

 

“What’s yours?”

 

“Taking care of my dog. Organizing my arrows. I don’t know. There’s a lot you can do.”

 

“Okay,” Steve sighed. He tiredly nodded at his hands. “This is the last time.”

 

Clint smiled sadly. “Alright, pal.”

 

Steve sat down on the nearest bench. “How’s Bucky?”

 

Clint winced. “I don’t really know.”

 

Steve nodded a few times. “I’m giving him space,” he explained.

 

“You two are ridiculously codependent,” Clint noted.

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“I don’t think he’s gonna freeze himself yet, though.”

 

“How’d you figure that?”

 

Clint shot Steve a weird look. “That guy is all about atonement.”

 

Steve blinked a few times. “What? He is?”

 

“Yeah,” Clint said, like Steve was stupid. “Why else do you think he went and tried to make a new life in fucking Bucharest instead of going on a revenge trip? Why else do you think he fought with us?”

 

“Huh,” Steve said slowly. “I didn’t think about it that way.”

 

Clint punched him lightly in the bicep. “Don’t feel bad. I’m experienced with this shit because Nat.”

 

“Oh. Right.”

 

“They’ve got similar issues.”

 

“Nat said something about that,” Steve said, recalling their conversation on the jet to Greece.

 

“Yep. That’s my girl. She’s self-aware like that.”

 

“She is.”

 

They sat in silence for a while until Clint checked his phone and whined, “Aw, time, no.”

 

“What?” Steve asked bemusedly.

 

“Late,” Clint explained. “And we need to sleep at a normal time to prepare for tomorrow.”

 

Steve thought that was a nice idea that would probably fail. He was way too wired to sleep, and it was probably going to be one of those weeks where he didn’t sleep until his body literally couldn’t take it anymore. “Alright.”

 

“See you in the morning, Steve.”

 

 _Goodnight_ , Steve signed.

 

Clint grinned at him and waved as he left the gym.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“We’ll be there in a half hour,” Natasha had told him twenty minutes ago.

 

So, now Steve was pacing. He kept picking at his bandages, and Sam kept whacking his arm every time he did it since it just made his knuckles bleed more. And now his bandages were bloodstained, and they didn’t have time to replace them, and everyone was going to know.

 

Steve was trying not to look at his bandages when there was a knock on the clubhouse room door.

 

“It’s me,” T’Challa said as he cracked the door open. “And them.”

 

Steve tried to make his posture as casual as possible, but he had never been able to actually get rid of his military posture, so he settled for that instead.

 

T’Challa opened the door all the way, and Steve suddenly wanted to be anywhere-but-here.

 

The air in the room was stiff and frozen as the Avengers and the Secret Avengers stared at each other.

 

Steve didn’t know why he was surprised that Tony was the first to break the silence. “Rhodes was right. This is too awkward and we’re leaving right now.” He started to turn around, but a tiny kid grabbed his arm.

 

“No, c’mon, you said it’d be fun.”

 

“Queens,” Steve blurted out, recognizing his voice.

 

Queens blinked. “Captain America. Sir. Hi.”

 

Steve tried to hide his reflexive flinch. “I’m not...”

 

“Oh! Right. Right.”

 

God, this was so fucking awkward.

 

“I’m Peter, though. My name is Peter. Not Queens.”

 

“I’m Scott,” Scott said with a little wave.

 

Nobody else bothered with introductions, and Steve still kind of wanted to call Peter Queens.

 

Natasha stepped forward from where she’d been behind everyone, holding up a black cat. “This is Liho.” She walked over to Steve, and Steve relaxed marginally as he ran a hand down Liho’s fur. Liho made a purring noise, and Steve’s lips twitched upwards. “Hands,” Natasha said accusingly, eyeing hid bandages.

 

Steve sighed and gave her a meaningful glare. But she just matched the glare with equal vehemence.

 

“Yeah, you’re all bloody,” Peter pointed out. “You get in a fight?”

 

“Yep,” Steve lied, and nobody besides Peter seemed to buy it.

 

While Steve and Natasha cooed over Liho, Tony grabbed the handles on Rhodey’s wheelchair and steered him into the room while Rhodey scowled. Sam shrank in on himself.

 

Vision was staring at Wanda like she was something ethereal, and Wanda was looking at the ground, but she was obviously very aware of his gaze, and it was so awkward that Steve wanted to die.

 

Clint sauntered over to them and punched Natasha in the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you got a cat.”

 

“You didn’t tell me Kate stole your dog again.”

 

“To be fair, she didn’t really—“

 

Natasha cut him off with a roll of her eyes, and Clint smiled fondly at her before turning his attention to Liho. As soon as he raised a hand to pet him, though, Liho hissed, and Clint withdrew.

 

“Yikes.”

 

“He likes you,” Natasha noted.

 

“Joy,” Clint muttered sarcastically.

 

Scott walked over to T’Challa. “Hey, your highness, did you manage—“

 

T’Challa gave Scott his signature tiny smile that meant he was trying not to smile bigger. “Maybe,” he said lightly.

 

One of T’Challa’s scary bodyguards led Cassie Lang into the room as if on cue. “Daddy!”

 

“Peanut!” Scott shouted, half-hysterical, as he enveloped Cassie in his arms. Steve had to look away.

 

“Where’s Barnes?” Natasha asked casually.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“So, he’s awake.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Alright.”

 

And that was that.

 

“So,” Tony said. “I got you all presents because I’m a saint.”

 

Steve blinked in surprise, and they all made their way over to sit on the couches. Natasha released Liho from her grasp, and he curled into a little comma on Steve’s lap, and Steve’s heart melted a little bit.

 

Tony passed out all these little poorly wrapped gifts, glaring fiercely at everyone as he did so.

 

Steve opened his gift carefully and found a note first.

 

**Dear Traitor Ex-Friend,**

**THANKS for ruining my life! I hate you! Also, you better try and fix it!**

**XOXO,**

**Tony StaRk, not Tony Stank, billionaire philanthropist, local martyr, the best friend you could ask for, super genius, fuck you, etc.**

 

Steve decided that he was going to hang this note up on his wall.

 

The actual present itself was a tiny note in a little jewelry box that said, **IOU 1 Deconditioning Technology**.

 

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve whispered.

 

Tony shrugged with purposeful aloofness. “Whatever.”

 

“I put together some shit too,” Clint said. “It’s not much, but it’s a thing.”

 

Clint’s present to Steve was an arrow spray-painted blue. Clint explained that the arrow glowed in the dark and that it was cool. There was a post-it note attached that said, **Anger doesn’t define you, bro. You can do the thing**.

 

Clint gave everyone else their own personalized arrows, and Steve saw that he had an extra that he didn’t pass out, which could only be for Bucky. Steve’s heart swelled a little bit.

 

Scott was cuddling with a half-asleep Cassie on the most comfortable chair in the room, and he said, “My present to you guys is the Christmas dinner. Which I made.”

 

“Swag,” Peter said.

 

“Clint and I should’ve passed our stuff out together,” Natasha noted. “I got everyone knives.”

 

Peter’s eyes lit up enough to make Steve wary, but everyone else was completely normal about the knives. Steve got this beautiful knife with a wicked blade and faint stars engraved into the hilt. It didn’t come with a note because Natasha loved pretending she wasn’t sentimental, but Steve got the message anyway and gave Natasha a hug.

 

Peter stood up and said, “So, this is awkward because I only know the Avengers. But I _did_ get everyone presents!” He passed out these incredibly thoughtful, hand-made inventions to the Avengers, and then handed each of the Secret Avengers a fifteen-dollar iTunes gift card.

 

Sam stood up next, still looking incredibly anxious. “I just... made some cards. It was kinda last-minute.” Sam quickly passed the cards out before returning to his seat.

 

Steve read his card in amusement.

 

**WHAT THE FUCK STEVE I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DIDN’T TELL US ABOUT THE AVENGERS COMING FOR CHRISTMAS UNTIL THE DAY BEFORE. OH MY GOD MY HAND IS CRAMPING FROM MAKING ALL THESE CARDS AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT. ALSO I LOVE YOU AND YOU’RE THE BEST FRIEND A GUY COULD ASK FOR AND FUCK YOU.**

**Also once we’re done being fugitives, you’re totally coming to the Wilson Family Christmas.**

 

Steve looked up to shoot Sam a smile, but Sam was staring intently at his lap. Rhodey looked up from his card in astonishment, which was the first expression he’d shown in here besides a scowl. He stared at Sam. “I don’t blame you, you know,” he whispered.

 

Sam cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly.

 

Tony and Vision exchanged an unreadable glance, and Steve looked away.

 

“Alright, I’ve got presents too,” Rhodey muttered, still glaring at everyone. He wheeled around and passed out... baseball hats to everyone.

 

Steve looked at the label. **WORLD WAR II VETERAN**. Wow. Okay. Nice one, Rhodey. Steve put the hat on, and Natasha laughed at him before she put her own hat on. **FORMER KGB ASSASSIN**. Steve started laughing too.

 

Wanda stood up. “I didn’t have time to make anyone anything, but I wanted to tell you all that I’m glad you’re here. Family should stick together. I don’t have any presents, but for me, this is enough of a gift.”

 

A beat of silence stretched out before Sam said, “Awww,” and Tony said, “Wow. Great. Okay. Anyone else?”

 

“I don’t know much about Christmas,” T’Challa admitted, “but I understand it has become something more materialistic than religious, so I put gifts in everyone’s rooms. You can find them later.”

 

“Aw, thanks, Kit-Kat,” Sam said.

 

“I don’t have anything either,” Vision said. “I am content to watch the festivities. I’m not even here.”

 

Everyone looked at Steve.

 

Steve blinked. Was he really the last one? “Oh. Um.” He scratched the back of his head. “I don’t have any... physical gifts. But I do—like—hang on.”

 

Steve pulled out a sharpie that he’d made sure he had this morning, because lord knew Bucky wasn’t going to be there with his stash of sharpies. Steve grabbed Natasha’s wrist and started drawing. When he was finished, he added a note. _I’m not great with words, but I love you._

 

“Me next,” Peter shouted, clambering to his feet. “I want a cool Captain America tattoo.”

 

“It’s not a tattoo, and I’m not Captain America,” Steve said.

 

So, Steve started drawing on everyone’s arms, leaving tiny notes of what he wouldn’t be able to say out loud.

 

And then the only person left was Tony, and he reluctantly extended his arm while everyone else tried to awkwardly hold a conversation.

 

Steve drew on Tony’s arm with geometric designs, trying to make it look as science fiction-y as possible. Tony seemed impressed with the way it looked, but he hid it well. Steve took a deep breath and wrote his note.

 

_I’m so sorry for everything that I’ve done to you, and I know I will never be able to make it up. There’s no way we’re tied for first in the Shittiest Person Alive contest. You’ll always be a better man than me._

 

And then they promptly did not talk about it. Which was excellent.

 

Steve stood on the edges of the group, listening to the conversation, hoping that this would be enough to start them on the path to Better. God, he hoped so.

 

But then the door nudged open quietly, and Bucky stepped into the room with such a resigned expression that Steve’s heartbeat immediately accelerated. He was holding a notebook in his hand, and Steve had no idea what to do. Not everyone had noticed him yet.

 

He looked at Steve, and Steve stared back. Bucky eventually offered him a small, sad smile and stepped into the room completely.

 

The feeble conversation collapsed.

 

Bucky walked over to Steve and whispered, “I need help tearing some pages out.”

 

Steve nodded slowly. Bucky opened the notebook and nodded at each page he wanted ripped out, which was definitely a two-handed job.

 

“Thank you. Will you hold this for a second?”

 

“Sure,” Steve murmured and took the notebook.

 

Bucky didn’t meet anyone’s eye as he passed out a page of his notebook to everyone in the room. Even—even Cassie. Steve was suddenly overwhelmed by how much he loved him. Again.

 

When Bucky handed Tony his sheet of paper, Tony’s jaw twitched. “So. You’re ‘armless now?”

 

Bucky slimed humorlessly. “Armless? Yes. Harmless? I wish.”

 

He walked back over to Steve and handed him a fucking piece of paper.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m not gonna stay in here. I can’t.”

 

“I know,” Steve whispered back. He reached out and grazed a finger against Bucky’s cheek because he had no self-control.

 

Bucky glanced at his bloody bandages, and his expression darkened. “Stevie.”

 

“It was the last time,” Steve explained.

 

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed. “Fine. Okay. Fine.” He briefly leaned into Steve’s touch. “I’ll be in your room if you need me.”

 

And then he was gone.

 

Steve looked down at his piece of paper.

 

_Stevie,_

_I’m not really sure what to say to you. Fuck, there’s so much I could say. We never really talk, you know? I mean, sure, we talk, but I don’t know. We’ve never talked about you and me. It’s a dangerous subject. You and me._

_It’s ridiculous. We’re so tangled up in each other. And, look, I tried being a person without you too. I tried it in Bucharest. And I thought I liked who I was becoming, but there was always going to be a Steve-shaped hole in my heart. Maybe we’re fucked up enough that neither of us can exist without the other. That’s what broke me, you know. When they told me you’d crashed the plane. I was done after that._

_Look, I know you hate that I keep going back under. And I’m very aware of how much it hurts. I haven’t been the only one who’s left. You’ve left me too. Please don’t forget that. But here’s the point:_

_I’m doing it for you, okay? I want us both to get better so that we can maybe try to live without a war. It’s not going to be forever. Fuck, we’re gonna get better, okay? We’re gonna learn to live without a war. Just trust me one last time on this one._

_Love,_

_Bucky_

Steve scrubbed furiously at his eyes. Dammit.

 

Everyone else was slowly looking up from their letters in varying degrees of shock. Tony was staring at his blankly, his grip on the paper so tight that Steve was distantly worried that he’d tear the paper.

 

Bucky didn’t want to be in cryo forever. Bucky didn’t think he could exist without Steve either. Bucky was doing this to make them get better. Bucky was reminding Steve that they’d both left each other.

 

Why did it hurt so much?

 

Steve wanted to lie down and never get up again. He started to feel the beginnings of that numb apathy, but he ignored it. Fuck, he wasn’t gonna spend any more of Bucky’s time awake in an episode of—what had Clint called it?—depression. He had to shove it away until Bucky was frozen again. He had to make the fucking most of their time.

 

(But, god, Steve didn’t want Bucky to leave again.)

 

Clint sniffled openly. “Damn, Steve. Your boy’s like a fucking poet.” Clint glanced down at his own letter and cleared his throat. “Damn.”

 

“What the hell, I only got him a gift card,” Peter said. “I’ve literally talked to the guy once. How on Earth...?”

 

Natasha gave Steve an unreadable look. “Has he always been this articulate?”

 

Steve shrugged. “In different ways. He was real charismatic back in the day. Could talk anyone into loving him. But even then, it was always actions over words, y’know? He talks less now, but everything he does is articulate. I don’t know.”

 

Natasha nodded like she understood, carefully folding her letter into a tiny square.

 

Tony was shoving his letter into his pocket in a crumpled mess, his jaw clenched, but at least he hadn’t torn it up or something. Bucky had obviously put a lot of thought into these.

 

Cassie was asleep on Scott’s lap, so Scott hadn’t been able to move. “You guys hungry?” he asked anyway, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. “The table is set.”

 

Everyone gratefully latched onto the change in subject, but Steve still felt frozen in place, and it was taking every ounce of strength he had to fight off the numbness trying to claw its way to the surface.

 

Wanda noticed. She walked over to him and grabbed his bicep. “Plum?” she asked.

 

“Yeah, just—one minute?” he whispered guiltily.

 

Wanda nodded and dragged him outside the room, the noise immediately muffled. Steve took a deep breath. Wand watched him carefully. “Want to talk about it?”

 

“I feel like shit,” Steve mumbled. “You know about the episodes I get?”

 

Wanda pursed her lips and nodded. “Yes.”

 

Steve didn’t ask how. He didn’t want to know. “I can feel one... trying to... start,” he managed.

 

Wanda raised her hand to Steve’s temple. “Can I take a look?” she asked softly.

 

“Sure.”

 

Steve closed his eyes as Wanda poked into his brain. The intrusion was so much gentler than it had ever been before, and Steve found himself automatically relaxing.

 

“What did you do?” he mumbled sleepily when Wanda dropped her hand.

 

She looked a little bit nervous. “I can’t erase whatever is going on in your head, but I think I delayed the episode a little bit.”

 

“How?” Steve asked curiously, flexing his fingers absentmindedly.

 

Wanda shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. I just pushed it away a little bit. I wish I could do more.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve breathed, finding that he was much more aware of his surroundings than he had been a few minutes ago.

 

“You don’t want them to know,” Wanda said.

 

“About the episodes? Not really,” Steve said. “I just fucked everything up with the Avengers, and then I have the right to be the damaged one? No.”

 

Wanda gave him a sad look. “Yes you do.”

 

Steve scoffed bitterly. “How are you doing in there?”

 

Wanda looked away. “Not great,” she admitted. “They are still afraid of me.”

 

Steve nodded. “I’m not afraid of you, if it’s any consolation.”

 

Wanda smiled sadly at him. “I know. I’m not afraid of you either.”

 

Steve blinked in surprise.

 

But Wanda just grabbed his arm again. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

 

He followed her back inside.

 

 

* * *

 

 

At the table, Steve found himself falling into his usual social behavior around the Avengers.

 

Which was, to say, he wasn’t really contributing to the conversation.

 

He was sitting in between Sam and Natasha, who kept glancing his way, but even before this whole mess, Steve hadn’t spoken very much.

 

But when he did, it was somehow always the worst thing to say.

 

(Sometimes he thought Bucky was the only person in the world who was capable of tolerating his sense of humor.)

 

“And then it crashed,” Peter was saying with these wide, oddly fast hand gestures. “So, that’s how I found out I will never be a pilot.”

 

“Same,” Steve muttered under his breath. Natasha punched him under the table, but thank god nobody else seemed to hear him.

 

“You really weren’t that bad, kid, you’re exaggerating,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “I was actually thinking of adding a jet pack to your suit.”

 

Peter’s eyes went wide. “I can’t decide if that’s insanely dumb or insanely awesome.”

 

“Both? Both is good,” Rhodey said.

 

“Why does your entire team have to fly, man?” Clint asked from Natasha’s other side. “It’s like. Weird.”

 

“I don’t fly,” Natasha said.

 

“Aw, honey, you fly to me,” Clint said, batting his eyelashes.

 

Natasha laughed. “That doesn’t make sense.”

 

“I like flying things, okay,” Tony said defensively. “It is weird that we kind of divided that way.”

 

“What are Wanda and I, chopped liver?” Sam demanded.

 

Tony waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. I’ll find some other connection.”

 

“Yeah. That all the people who were right went on our side and all the wrong ones are on your side,” Rhodey said with a flippant shrug.

 

“Yikes,” Clint whispered, too quietly for most of the table to hear.

 

“Funny,” Steve said. Nobody laughed.

 

T’Challa cleared his throat. “Sam tried to explain the religious aspect of Christmas to me. I’m afraid I still do not fully understand.”

 

“I’m great at explaining shit, Kit-Kat, don’t lie.” T’Challa arched an eyebrow at Sam in disbelief.

 

“No, you’re not,” Rhodey said, and Steve noted with relief that there was a spark of teasing light in his eyes. “You add too many sound-effects and shit. _I_ , on the other hand, am an excellent explainer.”

 

“Boom,” Tony said with an exaggerated pump of his fist, which must’ve been some sort of inside joke, because Rhodey groaned as Tony and Peter cackled, bumping fists.

 

Rhodey tried his best to explain it all to T’Challa, and Steve definitely understood why it was difficult to grasp. If he hadn’t grown up on the story, he would’ve been completely lost. “But, like you said, it’s really about presents nowadays.”

 

“Which is great. Father Capitalism and Mama Materialism are my baes,” Tony added.

 

“Figures,” Sam coughed into his fist.

 

Wanda and Vision exchanged a smile, seemingly subconsciously, and Steve looked away.

 

There was a quiet, small noise from the other side of the room, and Steve glanced over to see Cassie waking up. Scott looked kind of relieved and probably hungry, as he’d been trapped over there for the past hour. Sam had tried to feed him with some _here comes the airplane_ shit, but Scott had turned his head away as Sam cooed, “Aw, don’t be like that, Tic-Tac.”

 

“Daddy,” Cassie mumbled, blinking groggily. “Where are we?”

 

“We’re in Wakanda,” Scott whispered, voice thoroughly coated in affection, as he stood with Cassie still in his arms.

 

“Okay.”

 

“You hungry, Peanut?”

 

“Yes,” Cassie said with this adorable solemnity. “I am so hungry that I could eat an entire cow.”

 

Scott gasped. “That’s super duper hungry.”

 

“And a whole horse.”

 

Scott smiled. “I’m so hungry that I could eat a whole whale.”

 

Cassie scrunched up her nose. “I’m so hungry, I could eat the whole moon!” she exclaimed, her expression morphing into one of triumph.

 

Scott laughed. “Alright, okay, you’re definitely more hungry than me.”

 

“That’s right!” Cassie said, squirming a little bit. Scott put her down, and she walked over to the table. “Hello. My name is Cassie Lang, and it’s nice to meet you, and I am the most hungry person in the entire universe.”

 

Everyone at the table stared for a beat too long. “Well, hello there, Miss Lang,” Natasha said, standing to give her a little curtsy. Cassie giggled and curtseyed back. “I’m Natasha Romanoff, and I’d be happy to help you fill your plate.”

 

“Okay!”

 

“What do we say?” Scott said distractedly from where he was popping his back.

 

“Thank you,” Cassie added hastily. Natasha walked over to her spot at the table, which was between Scott and a very uncomfortable-looking Vision. Cassie eyed the rest of the table critically. “Who are the rest of you?”

 

They went around making introductions, but Cassie clearly got bored of them and stopped paying attention halfway through.

 

Liho climbed onto the table and started eating a piece of turkey while Scott complained about his food being taken for granted. “My cat only deserves the finest cuisine,” Natasha said with a flick of her hair. Liho sat down in Natasha’s lap and licked at his paws.

 

“You’re weirdly good with kids,” Steve told Natasha as Cassie ate her food.

 

“That’s because she helped me raise Kate,” Clint said.

 

“You met Kate when she was already a legal adult,” Natasha reminded Clint.

 

Clint frowned. “But she’s a baby.”

 

Natasha sighed.

 

“Your hair is weird,” Cassie informed Tony.

 

Tony looked offended. “ _Your_ hair is weird.”

 

Cassie giggled. “No, _your_ hair is weird.”

 

“No, _your_ —“ Tony cut himself off, frowning. “We’re going in a loop here.”

 

“I win!” Cassie looked around the table. “But Miss Natasha has the best hair,” she decided.

 

“Damn right she does,” Clint muttered.

 

Steve thought of Bucky’s hair, and then he started to feel grumpy because Bucky wasn’t here. Sam poked him in the cheek.

 

Scott distracted Cassie’s attention from the rest of the table so that they could have their own discussion, and soon, a bunch of different conversations were blooming forth, and Steve was a part of a resounding none of them.

 

He’d forgotten how lonely he’d been in the Avengers, despite the vague sense of family and belonging.

 

Steve pulled out the sharpie he somehow hadn’t managed to lose yet and started absentmindedly doodling on his bloody bandages, working with the red stains to make a picture of the aftermath of a battle on both hands. It hurt since the skin hadn’t completely healed yet, but Steve was so used to it that he barely noticed.

 

“That’s pretty,” Natasha said when Steve dropped the sharpie on the table.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Why haven’t you tried what I suggested yet?”

 

The painting his anger out thing? Steve shrugged guiltily. “I don’t know.”

 

“Please try it.”

 

Steve rubbed his eyes. He was so tired. “Okay.”

 

When everyone was mostly done eating, Peter said, “We should play a game.”

 

And then an argument surged forth, but it was familiar. The Avengers had argued over which game to play or which movie to watch so many times. Steve let the noise wash over him.

 

They settled on Apples to Apples, because, of course, Cassie ended up being the best arguer in the room, and she really wanted to play that game.

 

It was actually surprisingly fun, though. As always, they all got too competitive, and nobody noticed when the tension started to become less noticeable, but it did.

 

Steve got kicked out of the game for getting too competitive, which felt so familiar and _normal_ that Steve had to pause to catch his breath for a moment.

 

Rhodey wheeled over to where he was sitting a little ways away from the group. “Little bird tells me you aren’t doing so hot.”

 

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “Sam?” he asked, betrayed.

 

“It was kind of an accidental slip,” Rhodey said.

 

“You’re paraplegic because of all this,” Steve said quietly. “I’ve got nothing.”

 

Rhodey lifted a shoulder and sent his legs a dark look that disappeared quickly. “I’m dealing with it.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s nobody’s fault.”

 

Steve looked away. He’d watched too many people fall.

 

“Anyway, somebody else let slip a while back that you never saw a therapist regularly after you woke up.”

 

Steve scratched the back of his neck. “Um.”

 

“I’ve got some phone numbers,” Rhodey added as casually as he could, which meant that he still gave Steve an intense, meaningful look. “You should check them out.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve said stiffly as Rhodey handed him a slip of paper. Steve shoved it into his pocket next to Bucky’s letter so that he wouldn’t have to look at it.

 

Rhodey nodded. “I’m still mad at you,” he said. “Nowhere near as mad as Tony, but y’know. That’s kinda an unattainable level of anger to reach. But we were friends, once.”

 

“We were,” Steve said slowly.

 

Rhodey gave him a critical look. “I really hope you know what you’re doing, Steve.”

 

Steve gave a bitter little scoff. “I wish I did.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The apathy returned full-force at the end of the night. “I’m going to sleep,” Steve announced quietly. “How long are all you guys staying?”

 

“Cassie and I are headed back to San Francisco tonight,” Scott said.

 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up in alarm.

 

“Bodyguards and spies are gonna help me be low-key,” Scott explained.

 

“Okay.”

 

“I wanna see if I can sneak two Christmases in with the time zone differences,” Peter said. “So, I’m leaving tonight too.”

 

“The rest of us will leave sometime tomorrow,” Natasha said.

 

Steve bid Scott and Cassie a goodbye and nodded at Peter with a gruff, “Queens,” which seemed sufficient, so Steve headed off to his room.

 

He’d forgotten that Bucky said he was going to be in there, and lo and behold, there was Bucky, lounging on Steve’s bed, sticking these color-coded tabs into his notebook.

 

“Hey,” he said quietly.

 

“Hi,” Steve said. He got into bed next to Bucky and whispered, “I’m having an episode.”

 

“Oh. Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“I like your hat.”

 

“Thank you. Rhodey got it for me.”

 

Bucky carefully pulled the hat off and placed it on the bedside table. “I’m gonna take off your shoes and stuff too, okay?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Bucky returned to his side a few minutes later. “How was it?”

 

“Fine. Forgot how lonely it was.”

 

“Being an Avenger?” Bucky asked in surprise. Steve nodded. “Huh.”

 

“Nobody laughs at my jokes. Nat does sometimes. But nobody thinks I’m funny anymore,” Steve mumbled, somewhat nonsensically.

 

“I like your jokes,” Bucky said loyally, poking Steve’s nose.

 

“You don’t laugh anymore,” Steve pointed out.

 

“Neither do you.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Course I laugh.”

 

Bucky gave Steve an unimpressed look before giving a really half-assed huff of amusement. His expression immediately dropped back into deadpan. “That’s how you laugh.”

 

“Ugh,” Steve said.

 

“ _Ugh_ ,” Bucky mocked. “You look tired. You should sleep.”

 

“You always look tired, and you never sleep,” Steve observed.

 

Bucky shrugged. “I could go back to intervals.”

 

“Hm?” Steve hummed, trying to stay attached to the conversation.

 

“Used to sleep in forty-five minute intervals. Before you caught me in Bucharest.”

 

“That sounds fun,” Steve mumbled sarcastically.

 

“Better than no sleep at all. I figured I was gonna be back in cryo quickly, so I haven’t bothered to do intervals since I woke up.”

 

“You should.”

 

Bucky looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Steve blinked blearily at the ceiling. “How has... your day been?”

 

Bucky was looking at him fondly. “Uneventful.” He smoothed Steve’s hair away from his forehead. “Close your eyes, мой воин.”

 

Steve sighed and did as he was told.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve woke up when the door opened, and Bucky immediately leapt to his feet and pointed a knife at the door.

 

“Relax,” Wanda said, holding up her hands. Bucky slowly lowered the knife. “Hey, Steve. Are you feeling better?”

 

Steve struggled into a sitting position. “I dunno yet,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He scowled at his bandages and unwound them from his knuckles. The skin was healed, aside from a few scabs.

 

“You two slept through breakfast, and the Avengers were weirded out by it.”

 

“Right. Coming.”

 

“When are they leaving?” Bucky asked quietly.

 

“Today,” Steve said, standing. He squared his shoulders. “Come to the kitchen with me? We should be hungry.”

 

Wanda and Bucky picked up on his odd phrasing and gave him an appropriately odd look.

 

“Can’t feel it,” Steve explained. “Know I _should_ eat, though.”

 

“Wow, Stevie, you’re the picture of health,” Bucky muttered sarcastically, and Wanda laughed. “Let’s go eat.”

 

Bucky visibly relaxed a little bit when nobody else was in the kitchen. Bucky grabbed stuff to make oatmeal, and Steve took out a container of fruit. Wanda bid them farewell to go hang out with Vision and Clint, which gave Steve a sense of vertigo for a moment before it passed.

 

They ate in silence. When they finished, Bucky stuck out his arm and a pen for Steve to redraw the mostly faded design on Bucky’s arm, and Steve leaned across the table to do it, still stuck in the haze of the episode, knowing that he’d just have to deal with it.

 

They both noticed when somebody else walked into the cafeteria, but by some unspoken agreement, neither of them moved.

 

“Well. You’re both awake,” Tony said stiffly.

 

“Hi,” Bucky said, since Steve didn’t seem to be capable of speech at the moment.

 

“Hello.”

 

The silence stretched on. Steve shaded in the heart on Bucky’s pulse-point and quietly capped the pen.

 

“I’ve got one too,” Tony said, rolling up his sleeve.

 

Bucky shot Steve an amused look. “You drew on people as your Christmas present?”

 

Steve’s lips quirked upwards fractionally, and that was an answer in itself for Bucky.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and looked at Tony with forced casualness. “Fuck his artistry, man. He’s been making me drawings for Hanukkah since 1930.”

 

“I’m sure the drawings of a twelve year old were pretty stellar,” Tony said.

 

“Man, they totally were. I took one with me to war. I don’t have it anymore, for obvious reasons, but I wish I did.”

 

“I’ll make you an amateur doodle again if you want it,” Steve grumbled dryly.

 

Bucky smiled at him. “What’re you talking about? You already did.”

 

“Those jeans are full of _professional_ doodles,” Steve said, hoping his tone sounded suitably mock offended.

 

“Jeans?” Tony asked.

 

Bucky turned his smile on Tony, though it grew a little tight. “Steve doodled all over a pair of my jeans.”

 

“Crotch too?” Tony prodded, trying for a smirk.

 

“Yep,” Bucky said, unfazed, and Tony faltered slightly. “I’ll wear ‘em today.”

 

“You wear ‘em every day,” Steve said.

 

“Do not.”

 

“Dad never mentioned the artistry thing,” Tony blurted out, then cringed, shooting Bucky an unmistakably anxious look. “I mean, I noticed you doodle on napkins sometimes, and your battle plans are way too neat, but—“

 

“He went to art school,” Bucky explained. “He was a professional.” He sounded oddly proud.

 

“Buck,” Steve sighed.

 

Tony looked at them curiously. “Huh.” Then, he seemed to remember that he hated them both and scowled immediately. “Well, I have to go anywhere-but-here, because you two are awful, traitorous, lying, parents-killing scum.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve said.

 

“Fuck you.” And then he was gone.

 

The stiffness eased from Bucky’s shoulders and he let his forehead drop onto the table for a minute. “I am going to go hand out with Anaya for the rest of the day.”

 

“Okay. Have fun.”

 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and gave him a serious look. “I know you’re still in the middle of your episode. You can tap out if you need, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Steve said because he didn’t feel like arguing.

 

With that, they parted ways.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Steve, you listening?”

 

Steve looked up. “Hm?”

 

Sam was giving him a weird look. “Where’d you go, man?” he asked, tapping his temple.

 

Steve blinked slowly. “Oh. Sorry. Just wasn’t paying attention.”

 

“You always pay attention,” Tony said distractedly from where he was playing a video game with T’Challa and Rhodey on the couch.

 

Steve hummed again.

 

Natasha kicked his shin. “You’re distracted.”

 

“Sorry,” Steve said, not sorry at all.

 

“Has this been happening a lot?” Natasha asked Sam at a whisper so that the three other people in the room wouldn’t hear.

 

Sam eyed Steve for a moment. “I don’t know.” He frowned. “Do you only pretend to pay attention to me?”

 

“’Course not. I pay attention when it’s important.”

 

“SUCK IT, JIMMY!” Tony shouted from the couch, leaping to his feet.

 

“C’mon, Stank, hit me with your best shot,” Rhodey shouted back.

 

Steve glanced over to watch T’Challa’s character beat both of them. Sam and Natasha were talking about something, but Steve couldn’t concentrate on it. He didn’t want to move either, so he settled for staring blankly at the TV screen, hoping that would be excuse enough to not speak.

 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Natasha nudged him and asked, “You hungry?”

 

Steve looked over at her. “No. Thank you, though.”

 

Natasha pursed her lips a little bit and nodded.

 

He was worrying her, Steve knew distantly. It was really hard to feel bad about it right now, though. God, he really hated being like this.

 

At least he wasn’t immobilized. That would’ve sucked, especially for today.

 

Steve blinked a little while later, and Tony, Rhodey, and T’Challa had joined them around the coffee table they’d been sitting at.

 

“Yeah, I love that movie. That one lady—“ Tony was saying.

 

“—with the...” Rhodey cut in, miming having some really sizeable breasts.

 

“Yeah, that’s the one!” Tony said, pointing. “Her character ended up being really fucked up, but in a cool way. I forget what happened to her at the end.”

 

“She tried to kill herself and ended up in a coma,” Natasha supplied with an arched, judgmental eyebrow.

 

“Huh. There’s that shared life experience we were talking about,” Steve said to Natasha without thinking.

 

Everyone in the room froze.

 

Steve sighed. This was why he wasn’t allowed to try to make jokes. Nobody thought he was fucking funny anymore.

 

Unsurprisingly, Natasha recovered first. Her lips twitched, and Steve relaxed slightly. “Nah. Her life was even worse than yours.”

 

Steve smiled at her. “Interesting. Maybe we should watch the movie.”

 

“Her character was used as a mechanism to further the main character’s plotline. It’s not all-that groundbreaking.”

 

Tony squawked in offense. “But—“

 

“No buts.”

 

The conversation moved on, and Steve zoned out again.

 

* * *

 

 

“Alright. We need to head back home,” Rhodey announced, breaking Steve out of his daze.

 

“I’m texting Vision,” Tony said.

 

“Already?” Steve asked.

 

Tony stared at Steve blankly. “It’s past dinner. We’re leaving kind of late, actually.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Tony looked at him for another uncomfortable moment, and Steve got the feeling that he knew exactly what Steve was trying to hide. But he was Tony, and he said nothing. Steve shifted a little bit. “I just want you to know,” Tony said, “that this has been the second-most awkward Christmas of my life.”

 

Steve relaxed slightly. “What was the first-most awkward?”

 

Tony smirked, but there was a darkness in his eyes. “The year mom and Howard died.”

 

Steve nodded, kind of thankful for the apathy now. “How’d you spend it?”

 

Tony waved a hand. “Y’know.” Rhodey looked uncomfortable and wheeled away to talk to T’Challa and Sam. “Spent half the day with Aunt Peggy, then a week in a druggie safehouse.”

 

“Naturally,” Steve said, trying not to think about the way his heart skipped a beat at the mention of Peggy, even through the haze.

 

Tony shifted his weight from foot to foot. “We didn’t talk very much,” he said quietly, gesturing between the two of them.

 

Steve frowned. “I thought that was what you wanted.”

 

“No. I don’t know.” He raked a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I want things to be _normal_ again.”

 

“Tony,” Steve said seriously. “I didn’t talk very much at all when it was normal. I was trying to help.”

 

“I want it to be happy-normal. You keep isolating yourself.”

 

“Yeah, so do you.”

 

They glared at each other.

 

“I—“ Steve began, but he didn’t know what to say.

 

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” Tony whispered.

 

Steve hunched his shoulders. “I didn’t want you to know. I thought it would hurt you.”

 

“Hurts more that you kept it from me.” Tony clenched his jaw. “Sorry—forget it.”

 

“I know I fucked up,” Steve snapped, suddenly angrier at himself than he thought he could be. “I know I fucked up,” he repeated, quieter.

 

(Maybe Tony never would’ve tried to kill them if Steve had just muscled up and told Tony about Bucky’s kill list. Once again, everything was all his fault.)

 

“Huh. You’re admitting you’re wrong,” Tony said, sounding surprised.

 

“I wasn’t wrong about Bucky, and I wasn’t wrong about the Accords,” Steve said. “But I was wrong about holding December 16th to myself.”

 

Tony shrugged. “I guess I’ll take what I can get for now.” His eyes darted around, and he lowered his voice to mutter, “And for the record, I was wrong about keeping Wanda imprisoned.”

 

“You should tell her that.”

 

“Maybe,” Tony sighed. “Look, I really don’t ever want to have to deal with Barnes again for the rest of my life. That’s why I’m helping with the deconditioning, okay? We’ll be done after that.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said hollowly.

 

“And we all have an understanding right now,” Tony added. “We won’t arrest any of you unless you pose a threat.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Tony extended his hand, and Steve shook it. “Take care of yourself, Cap.”

 

“You too, Tony.”

 

With that, Tony withdrew his hand and walked over to Rhodey.

 

Steve felt kind of exhausted, but then Vision appeared in front of him out of nowhere. “Captain Rogers,” he said, and Steve still felt kind of weird that he didn’t have Jarvis’s personality. “It has been a most interesting holiday.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

 

“Indeed.” He nodded to himself.

 

“Did you and Wanda fix anything?” Steve asked, mostly out of politeness.

 

If a robot-cyborg-AI-thing could blush, Vision was certainly doing something like that. “I believe so.”

 

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Do I need to give the shovel talk?”

 

Vision blinked a few times. “I do not think that will be necessary.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Vision, buddy, c’mere!” Sam called from the other group congregated around Tony and Rhodey. Vision smiled politely at Steve and floated over there, leaving Steve alone again.

 

Until Natasha rematerialized from wherever she’d been off to. “Where’d you go?” Steve asked.

 

“I talked to Barnes and Anaya a little bit.”

 

Steve looked at her. “Does Anaya like everyone besides me?”

 

“Basically. And to be fair, you get blood all over her equipment.”

 

Steve groaned. “I’m gonna stop.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Steve didn’t ask what they talked about. Bucky would tell him later if he wanted to. “Where’s Liho?”

 

Natasha opened her hoodie, exposing Liho clinging to her ribcage.

 

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Steve asked, nodding at the claws.

 

Natasha raised her eyebrow in such a deadpan way that Steve huffed a laugh.

 

Clint and Wanda walked inside and came to join Steve and Wanda.

 

“Tasha, are you really wearing that necklace?” Clint asked, noticing the arrow pendant and grinning goofily.

 

Natasha shrugged with purposeful nonchalance. “It’s my favorite.”

 

“ _You’re_ my favorite.”

 

“PDA,” Wanda whispered to Steve, and Steve smiled.

 

Clint and Natasha switched to sign language, and Steve didn’t feel like paying attention, so he turned to Wanda instead. “How has your day been?”

 

Wanda shrugged, but there was a tiny smile on her face. “Fine.”

 

“Vision?”

 

“Very fine.”

 

Steve huffed another laugh. “You should talk to Tony.”

 

Wanda sighed. “I should.” She squeezed Steve’s arm. “Wish me luck.”

 

“I wish you luck.”

 

The goodbye process lasted another hour, and Steve exchanged a stilted goodbye with Rhodey and hugged Natasha for a lot longer than he probably should have before everyone was ready to leave.

 

They exited the palace, and Tony tossed Steve one last look over his shoulder. Steve nodded at him, and Tony nodded back before turning away again, and it wasn’t great, and it wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t even remotely happy, but it was a little bit better than what it had been before.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Freight car,” Steve deadpanned. “The last word means freight car.”

 

Wanda nodded, her expression grim.

 

“This one is not going to be fun.”

 

“For either of you,” Wanda added.

 

“Thanks, Wanda,” Steve muttered sarcastically. “I didn’t even consider that I might have a shitty time watching Bucky forget and remember falling to his death.”

 

“Asshole,” Wanda said, but it had no heat to it. “Also, Bucky wants to remove the word today.”

 

Steve groaned. “Of course he does.”

 

“You two can be so similar sometimes. It’s weird. You’re both freakily impatient.”

 

“We’ve both wasted enough time,” Steve explained.

 

Wanda scoffed. “Being frozen doesn’t count.”

 

“Yes it does.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“Ughhhhh.”

 

“Ooooh, are we moping?” Clint asked, walking into the gym.

 

“Yep,” Wanda said, grinning at him.

 

“Count me in. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

 

“Oh my god,” Steve muttered, hopping up on the treadmill.

 

“Don’t break my things!” Anaya snapped at him from the other side of the room. It was like she had fucking alarm bells in her head for whenever Steve touched her equipment. What the fuck.

 

“You’re no fun,” Steve said.

 

Anaya muttered something in Wakandan that was probably excessively vulgar.

 

Steve started up the treadmill, and Clint switched to ASL.

 

_Do you know when S-C-O-T-T is coming back?_

 

 _No_ , Steve signed back.

 

Clint scowled.

 

Wanda, who still hadn’t learned ASL, sent a questioning look in Steve’s direction. “He wants to know when Scott’s coming back.”

 

“Never,” Wanda said conspiratorially.

 

“That’d be nice. For him, at least.”

 

“Cassie was cute,” Wanda allowed.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “I’m just not really a kids person.”

 

 _Why not?_ Clint signed, kind of aggressively. _Kids are great._

 

Steve tried to stop the rapid flashback, but it was too late. Images unfurled behind his eyelids. Emaciated bodies of dead children in concentration camps. Tiny corpses laid out in bombed-out cities. And—fuck—when Steve couldn’t see—he didn’t know—how _could_ he have known that a kid had been in there—he _didn’t_ —

 

“Steve,” Wanda said warily.

 

Steve blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. “The War,” he said shortly. “Kind of ruined the idea of kids for me.”

 

Clint’s eyes softened in understanding, and Wanda looked away. Steve upped the speed on his treadmill, kind of wishing that he hadn’t decided to stop using the punching bag.

 

“Tell Buck that I need two hours before we can erase the word,” Steve said, and he could feel himself shutting down.

 

“Sure,” Wanda whispered. She grabbed Clint’s arm and dragged him away, sensing that Steve needed to be alone right now.

 

Steve remembered from the Winter Soldier files that Bucky had killed children. How could he forget? Maybe it all went back to shared life experience, or whatever the fuck Steve told himself he wanted. Maybe he and Bucky were cursed to repeat each other’s sins.

 

(Steve hadn’t even known the kid’s name. It had been an accident. God, it had—it had been an accident, right? It had still been his fault, and he’d tried to make up for it. Fuck, he’d tried. But he never found the kid’s name. It was never enough.)

 

Steve ran and ran and ran until the treadmill suddenly stopped. He looked up sharply to see that Anaya had literally pulled the plug on him. “You are overexerting the machine.”

 

Steve glared at her. “I need it back.”

 

“Take a shower, fuckhead.”

 

“I’m not done.”

 

“Yes, you are.”

 

Steve grabbed the arms of the treadmill, knowing his grip was knuckle-white. “Please don’t take this away from me.”

 

Anaya rolled her eyes. “You are struggling. Learn to deal with it like a person who does not suffer from severe emotional constipation. You will only burn yourself out this way.”

 

Steve gritted his teeth. “Maybe I want to burn out.”

 

“Then, fine. I care about your wellbeing very little. Just leave my equipment in prime shape,” Anaya snapped.

 

“All machinery burns out,” Steve told her.

 

“Yes, well. Machinery is expensive, and I try to save funds for things that are more important,” Anaya pointed out icily.

 

Steve managed to step off the treadmill. “She’s all yours,” he muttered.

 

“For the record,” Anaya called as Steve made his way to the bathroom, “you do not have the same luxury as a machine. You will not burn out and be discarded for something better. You will just suffer further, and you will make your friends suffer even more.”

 

“Fuck you!” Steve shouted, not turning around.

 

Anaya sighed audibly. “Someone needs to tell you about how destructive you are being.”

 

“I know what I’m doing,” Steve growled.

 

“Clearly, you have not thought it through, then. You are only hurting the very people you are trying to protect.”

 

Steve shook his head and left the room. “I don’t need this bullshit.”

 

“You do.”

 

Steve locked the door between them and heaved a deep breath.

 

He was going to be fine.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky looked blank as he sat on their usual cot, which really just meant that he was nervous out of his mind.

 

“You ready for this?” Steve asked him softly.

 

Bucky lifted a shoulder. “Let’s just get it over with.”

 

Wanda and Sam exchanged a glance before Wanda lifted her hands. “Alright.”

 

Steve watched Bucky’s face carefully as Wanda erased the word. Bucky hid the flash of pain really well, but Steve had spent a lifetime watching Bucky’s face, and he knew what he was seeing. His heart twisted in his chest.

 

Wanda dropped her hands and glanced at Steve. “I’m just going to make sure he doesn’t remember it.” Steve nodded, even though they both knew that there was only one thing Bucky would associate with a freight car.

 

Bucky opened his eyes. “What’d I forget now?” he asked self-deprecatingly.

 

“The train?” Wanda prompted.

 

“Gotta be more specific than that,” Bucky said.

 

“No, I don’t,” Wanda sighed. “Hold on a moment. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Great,” Bucky murmured and closed his eyes in preparation. Wanda raised her hands.

 

Steve saw the moment the memory came back to him, and he hated what he saw. The lovely curve of Bucky’s mouth tightened and wavered slightly, and his jaw twitched. His right hand instinctively moved to the metal stub of his left shoulder.

 

“Ah,” Bucky whispered, not opening his eyes. “That’s a helluvah thing to forget.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve croaked.

 

Bucky forced his eyes open, and they were shiny. “Not your fault, Stevie.”

 

Steve shook his head, not bothering to respond to that. “You okay?” he asked, bringing a hand up to touch Bucky’s jaw.

 

“Well. I fell off a train,” Bucky said.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You didn’t catch me.”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“I knew you wouldn’t.”

 

Steve froze. “You—“

 

Bucky smiled sadly. “It was either I fall or we both fall. ‘M glad it was just me.”

 

“I should’ve—“

 

“No,” Bucky said. “No.”

 

Steve blinked once. “Why are you comforting _me_? What the fuck, Bucky, this is about you.”

 

“Oops,” Bucky said. He rubbed the skin around his metal shoulder.

 

“Did it hurt?”

 

“A little,” Bucky whispered softly, an echo of a different lifetime. Steve’s chest ached. “It was cold.”

 

“I’m gonna make sure you’ll never have to be cold again,” Steve swore lowly.

 

Bucky shook his head. “I gotta go back under again. That’ll be cold.”

 

Steve’s mouth shut with a click. He’d forgotten for a moment that it was all gonna end again.

 

“It’s okay. I kinda like the cold now.”

 

“I guess that makes one of us.”

 

“Thermodynamic equilibrium,” Sam blurted out, and Steve and Bucky both looked at him. “Sorry. Continue. I’m not even here.”

 

Bucky turned back to Steve. “You didn’t come back for me. After I fell.”

 

Steve took a shuddering breath. “I was too busy going completely off the rails.”

 

“Never too busy for your best guy.”

 

Steve put his hand over Bucky’s, and now they were both holding his metal shoulder. “There is not a day that goes by where I don’t regret not assembling a team to find your body.”

 

Bucky fell silent, and Steve could see that he was slowly unraveling. This memory wasn’t bringing on a panic attack. It was bringing on some sort of greater crisis. “I’ve gotta go,” Bucky whispered.

 

“Okay,” Steve said, even as his heart snapped in his chest.

 

Bucky clambered to his feet, thanked Wanda hastily, and left the room.

 

“Hoo, boy,” Sam said, eyes wide. “Can someone say damage control?”

 

“Damage control,” Wanda said.

 

Steve closed his eyes. He didn’t know what the fuck he was gonna do.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky was in his bed again that night.

 

His expression was dark and haunted, and he said nothing as Steve got ready to try and sleep.

 

“You okay?” Steve finally whispered as he climbed under the sheets.

 

Bucky shrugged. He turned a little bit towards Steve.

 

“What d’you want me to do?”

 

Bucky rubbed his face with his hand. “I don’t know.”

 

Steve reached out and slung an arm across Bucky’s body, even though he was still sitting up. “This okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed.

 

Steve pressed his nose into Bucky’s hipbone. “I love you.”

 

Bucky let out a breath. “Love you too, Stevie.” He finally shifted so that he was lying down, turning over to face Steve. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed, voice breaking quietly in the darkness of the room.

 

Steve’s heart broke a little bit. “Me neither, Buck.” Steve reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear. “You wanna let it out? I’m here.”

 

Bucky shook his head, closing his eyes. “It’s not worth it.”

 

“We’ve been over this. You’re worth everything.”

 

Bucky squirmed away a little bit. “I’m really not.”

 

“You are to me, okay?” Steve said, withdrawing his arm so that Bucky would be able to move away if he wanted to. But Bucky just blinked at him and then curled into Steve’s chest. “How long are you staying?”

 

Bucky took a deep breath. “Wanda just needs to take a look and figure out what else needs fixing. Then, I can go back under.”

 

That wasn’t going to take very long. “Alright,” Steve whispered.

 

“It’ll be the last time,” Bucky promised, but the words were hollow. They both knew that Bucky would keep leaving if he thought it’d be for the best.

 

Maybe they were cursed in every possible way like that.

 

Steve buried his face in Bucky’s hair and didn’t bother to respond. They both pretended to sleep and didn’t look at each other in the morning. 


	3. How To Fix (Ruin) Everything In A Few (Just One) Easy Steps, A Guide By Steven G. Rogers

“The conditioning encompasses many things,” Wanda was explaining with these wide gestures that would have made Steve nervous a year ago. “It’s woven into his brain. However, it also seems to be thoroughly fragmented.”

 

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked with a frown. He had the hood of his new favorite sweatshirt pulled over his head, and he was glaring at the room so fiercely that Steve wondered if lasers would start coming out of his eyes.

 

“Well, you were a super soldier,” Wanda explained. “Firstly, they could never fully condition you since your brain just keeps regenerating itself. That’s why you never went on long missions. That’s why they had to wipe you over and over again.”

 

“I know that,” Bucky said, annoyed.

 

Wanda nodded, not deterred. “And then Steve apparently helped you break the essence of the conditioning.”

 

“What’s the fucking ‘essence of the conditioning’?” Steve asked.

 

“Mission protocol,” Wanda said. “This was built into Bucky so that he had to follow orders when presented with them. Obviously, he’s capable of making his own decisions now and doesn’t experience any ill affects if he says no to someone.”

 

Bucky looked a little bit smug at that, and Steve felt a burst of warmth. “What else is there?”

 

“In Bucharest,” Wanda continued, “you learned how to live your life normally, correct?”

 

“I guess,” Bucky muttered, tugging at his hood a little bit.

 

“You could go grocery shopping and hold conversations and clean your apartment,” Wanda said. “You could do all of this without being told.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah.”

 

“That’s another thing that was a part of the conditioning. You were meant to be completely dependent on Hydra. Enough so that you wouldn’t be able to live on your own.”

 

Steve clenched his fists a few times. “Right,” Bucky said, not sounding disturbed at all.

 

“So, those two things are in fragments, but they’re still there. There is a very low possibility that you could revert to a dependent state in which you do nothing but follow orders.”

 

“That wouldn’t be great,” Bucky said mildly.

 

“No,” Wanda agreed. “There are other things that haven’t been broken yet, although they aren’t as damaging. Your survival instincts have been completely screwed.”

 

Great.

 

“You don’t register pain the same as you’re supposed to. You don’t register danger.”

 

“Like Steve,” Bucky said, sending Steve a little smirk like they were talking about something completely trivial instead of Bucky’s ability to protect himself.

 

“He’s got fight or flight senses,” Steve pointed out, ignoring Bucky very deliberately.

 

“Because Hydra was unable to get rid of that without compromising his assassin abilities,” Wanda said. She paused. “Look, what they did makes a lot of sense, actually. Nerves exist to warn the body that something is going to damage them. You two are super soldiers, and things don’t damage you in the same way, so a skewed conception of pain actually makes sense in a scientific sort of way.”

 

“Have you been talking to the doctors?” Bucky asked wryly.

 

Wanda disregarded him. “Your metal arm didn’t register feelings the same way because it takes a lot more force to harm it, so similar levels of pain would be counterproductive. But your pain conception had been numbed to an unhealthy level. You barely register things that _would_ damage you.”

 

“Constant torture tends to do that,” Bucky noted. “And I gotta tell you, I kinda like that nothing hurts.”

 

Wanda shot him a glare. “Have you been listening? Not feeling pain means your body can’t warn you when you’re in actual danger.”

 

“We don’t want that,” Steve said hurriedly.

 

“So, that’s a problem,” Wanda concluded. Bucky groaned. “And then there’s the other conditioning that came from psychological torture. Paranoia. Fixation to detail. Hyperawareness of your surroundings.”

 

“Those aren’t too bad,” Bucky said. “And I fixated on details before the War. Tell her, Steve.”

 

“He did,” Steve allowed. “Buck was always the organized one.”

 

Bucky nodded, as if triumphant.

 

“Yes, but it wasn’t obsessive,” Wanda said. “I don’t know if there’s a way to fix that, though. You may just need to deal with it how normal people deal with OCD, although I’m not sure it’s the same thing. I’m no psychologist.”

 

“Are you saying I should get a therapist?” Bucky asked, sounding kind of amused.

 

“Undoubtedly,” Wanda said firmly.

 

“Alright.”

 

Steve blinked. Bucky’d agreed to therapy. Just like that?

 

Seeing his look, Bucky rolled his eyes. “I wanna get better, remember?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve breathed.

 

“So, our to-do list for Bucky’s deconditioning is as follows,” Wanda announced, clearing her throat. “We need to make sure that the willingness to follow orders and the dependency aspects are completely destroyed. We need to reinstill survival instincts. And we need to at least take a look at the psychological damage, which probably just requires therapy.”

 

“That’s not too bad,” Bucky said. “You guys can figure it out, right?”

 

“Hopefully,” Steve said.

 

“Alright. Well, in the meantime, I’m still dangerous and unstable, so wake me up when you’ve got something for me.”

 

Why was he being so casual? Steve wanted to scream. “Right now?” Steve asked in an admittedly small voice.

 

Bucky gave him a look. “I don’t see why we have to drag out goodbyes.”

 

Steve shrank in on himself. “I—okay.”

 

Bucky stood up and started walking away, presumably headed to the room with the cryochamber. “You coming?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, getting to his feet and falling in step with Bucky. Wanda hurried to follow them.

 

“I’m texting everyone else to come say goodbye,” she informed them.

 

“Alright,” Bucky said. He reached out and threaded his fingers with Steve, giving Steve’s hand a squeeze. Steve couldn’t look at him.

 

T’Challa was off doing king shit, and Scott was still MIA (although he had checked in a few days ago with a Facetime call), but everyone else met them in the room, in addition to three Wakandan doctors.

 

The doctors talked to Bucky for a moment, and Sam walked over to Steve and put a hand on his back. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

 

“No,” Steve said.

 

Bucky said goodbye to everyone else first, which was hard to watch. Sam even gave him a reluctantly fist-bump, and Steve wanted to cry.

 

Then, it was just him left. Like it always was.

 

“See you on the other side of it,” Bucky whispered, shifting his weight.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Listen,” Bucky began, his expression flashing with darkness. “Please don’t hurt yourself while I’m gone.”

 

Steve just didn’t want Bucky to worry, although he had no idea if that was going to happen yet. “I’ll try.”

 

“Think about places you’d want to live for when I get out,” Bucky said. “Maybe even find us a house.”

 

Steve couldn’t imagine scrolling through houses for sale. “Um.”

 

“Or, we can figure it out together,” Bucky said hurriedly.

 

Steve wanted to grab Bucky by the shoulders and shake him hard and demand why he wanted this later instead of eight fucking months ago when Steve had been ready to abandon it all. He didn’t do that. Instead, he just nodded mutely.

 

And then Bucky hugged him hard, and Steve was clinging to his best friend with everything left in him. His best friend. His right-hand man. His soulmate. His Bucky.

 

He was leaving. _Again_.

 

It was too soon when Bucky withdrew, but it was always going to be too soon. They stared at each other sadly, and then the doctors were helping Bucky step into the chamber, and Bucky was looking at him one last time, and the glass was frosting over, and it was all gone, and the world had gone gray again.

 

Steve’s knees buckled, and he didn’t know why. He just couldn’t support his own weight anymore. Sam lurched to catch him, but Steve’s knees still hit the ground hard, and he stared at the cryochamber, wishing that the apathy would rush back to him in a comforting cushion, wishing wishing wishing wishing—

 

“Oh no,” Sam whispered, and Steve broke like a fucking dam that had already had a million cracks within.

 

He pressed his hands to his face, trying in vain to hide the mess of snot and tears. Logically, he knew no one here would judge him, but Steve wasn’t a logical person and he hated logic more than anything right now and why did Bucky have to be so fucking logical all the time now he didn’t used to be logical and Steve hated it he hated it he—

 

Someone was running fingers through his hair, and it wasn’t Sam since Sam had both hands on Steve’s arms. It was Wanda. She sat down next to him and put her arm around his shoulders, and Steve didn’t deserve it. Clint dropped down to his other side and leaned against him, and now Steve was surrounded by people who he loved, and he didn’t know what to do with himself, so he just cried harder.

 

And they let him.

 

Why were they letting him?

 

He had—no right—to cry—over something like this. He had no right.

 

But they let him. They let Steve cry until he was dehydrated and exhausted and couldn’t move at all. They dropped into such a deep silence that Steve ached with it. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He didn’t know how many more times he could survive Bucky leaving. He didn’t really want to.

 

But it felt odd now. It felt different. He didn’t feel quite the same type of emptiness. Steve didn’t know how to explain it. He was a hollow person regardless of whether or not Bucky was here. He was an animated statue. He just didn’t feel the same way he had the last time Bucky had left, although that was to be expected. Every time Bucky left was a different type of pain.

 

Steve guessed he’d expected a similar pain because Bucky was leaving in the same way. But it was different again. It was always different.

 

He let his friends stay with him and let them drag him to the clubhouse room to watch sad movies.

 

And he loved them so much that he almost couldn’t breathe with it.

 

* * *

 

 

It never failed to surprise Steve how disgusted he was with himself.

 

It was hard to know that Bucky was the only good thing about Steve. It made complete sense. But it was hard.

 

Steve had never fully dealt with it, and he knew he probably never would.

 

He wanted to take the fork held carefully between his fingers and rake it through his jugular vein. But he didn’t do that. Because he was fully capable of dealing with the intrusive thoughts because he’d been dealing with them for a lifetime, and he didn’t need Bucky here to pull him back from the edge every single time.

 

(Right?)

 

Steve blinked, and he was in the gym. He was sitting on one of the benches, hands clasped between his knees, staring at the bloodstained punching bag. God, he wanted to hit it, and he wanted it to hurt.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed, dropping his head down and raking both hands roughly through his hair. He hated himself.

 

“You are not going to get blood all over my gym again, are you?” Anaya demanded. Steve looked up at her. Of course she was here.

 

“No,” he mumbled, even as his knuckles ached for it.

 

Anaya was glaring at him, looking terribly annoyed. “Don’t you have other ways to take out your anger?”

 

Steve shook his head. “Only other ways are worse ways.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes.

 

“You need to admit it to yourself. You just don’t want to get better,” Anaya continued, her tone ruthless.

 

“You’re right,” Steve said, and she looked surprised for an instant. “I don’t give a shit about myself. The only people who want me to get better are _them_.” He made a sweeping gesture that was supposed to encompass the Secret Avengers plus Bucky.

 

“That is fucked up.”

 

Steve shrugged. “Yeah.” Why was it easier to talk to her than everyone else? (Maybe because she almost hated him as much as he hated himself. They had something in common already.)

 

Anaya sighed, looking at Steve in resignation. “The Black Widow told me to keep you away,” she said, jerking her head towards the punching bag.

 

“That’s not surprising.”

 

“You need to find something else.”

 

Steve nodded. “I know.”

 

“Something that does not fuck up my gym.”

 

Steve cracked a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

 

Anaya hummed. “I will hunt you down, Rogers. Do not test me.”

 

Steve held up both hands. “I have no doubt.”

 

“Good. Now get the fuck out of my gym.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

T’Challa’s Christmas present sat neglected in Steve’s drawer.

 

It was the most beautiful sketchbook Steve had ever seen in his entire life and was probably so expensive that he would’ve fainted at the price. But T’Challa was a king, and he probably didn’t have much frugality in him.

 

Steve tentatively flipped the sketchbook open to the first page and ran his fingers lightly across the paper.

 

Doodles. He hadn’t done anything besides doodles in _years_.

 

He grabbed a pencil. It wasn’t even a pencil made for art. Well, Steve wasn’t made for art. He was made for war. But that hadn’t stopped him back when he’d had some semblance of control over himself.

 

He scratched a light, barely-there line onto the paper.

 

Huh. That wasn’t so hard.

 

What should he even draw? Natasha had suggested drawing shit angrily. Or something. Steve couldn’t remember.

 

“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself. He’d just let something unfurl from the pencil. He’d done that plenty times back in Brooklyn.

 

It was... really surprisingly easy to get lost in arcs of the pencil. He realized what he was drawing five minutes into it and cringed, but he didn’t stop. Steve had always hated having an unfinished sketch.

 

He didn’t stop until it was done, and his fingers were slightly bruised from gripping the pencil so tightly. He stared down at his handiwork. A scene he had pushed to the back of his mind for months. In the sketch, Tony and Bucky both laid on the ground, both broken in multiple ways. An unrecognizable silhouette stood between them, tall and imposing and _scary_ , the hated shield dangling accusingly from his grip.

 

Steve shut the sketchbook slowly. He felt. Tired.

 

There was a distant part of him that wanted to celebrate. He’d successfully done something that wasn’t self-destructive in order to release some anger. But mostly, he just felt sad.

 

Bucky would’ve forced him to celebrate, no matter how pathetic a milestone this was. God, Steve missed having Bucky in his room. He missed having Bucky anywhere at all.

 

Steve fumbled for his phone, knowing that he had to do the right thing now, even if he was fucking tired.

 

STEVE: Hey I’m in my room can you come over

 

SAM: Omw

 

Steve didn’t have time to think about anything before Sam was opening the door. “What’s up?” he asked, a furrow of concern on his forehead.

 

Steve held up the sketchbook, and Sam’s eyes widened.

 

“Were you drawing?” His expression said, _???????_ so clearly that Steve smiled a little bit.

 

“Yep,” Steve said. He opened it to the first page and turned the book to show Sam the drawing. Which was admittedly kind of disturbing. Steve could see the moment Sam looked at the figure that was supposed to be Steve because he frowned pretty aggressively at it. Sam gently took the sketchbook from Steve’s hands to inspect it more closely.

 

“You’re really good,” Sam finally settled on, putting the sketchbook on the bed.

 

Steve glanced at the lines, out of practice and shaky. “It needs work.”

 

“Better than anything I’ve done.”

 

Steve lifted a shoulder.

 

Sam was looking at him with such badly hidden delight that Steve wanted to hide. “You wanted to hit something,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

 

“Somebody told me I should get my shit together,” Steve replied.

 

Sam’s toothy grin was blinding, and Steve had forgotten how beautiful the expression was. “Dude,” he said, his voice all choked and emotional.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed quietly.

 

“We’re gonna get better,” Sam said in disbelief.

 

“I still hate that word,” Steve said halfheartedly. He was too busy trying to smother a smile. Sam was proud of him. Sam was smiling. Steve felt overwhelmed.

 

“I don’t care,” Sam said. He wrapped Steve up in a brief, tight hug before releasing him. “This calls for celebration or some shit.”

 

Steve ducked his head. “Aw, Sammy, this isn’t anything.”

 

“It’s everything, Sour Punch, and you know it,” Sam said firmly. “I can’t believe I ever thought you weren’t self-aware. You’re too smart for your own good, and you aren’t allowed to play dumb with me ever again.”

 

Steve couldn’t hide his smile anymore. “People forget I’m not just strong.”

 

“You’re the full package. Brains and brawn.”

 

Steve laughed, and it wasn’t a full laugh or anything, but it wasn’t the half-assed huff that he’d been using for years now. Sam’s grin went even wider. “You sound like you’re setting up an online dating profile for me.”

 

Sam giggled. “Steve Rogers. Vet. Is smart and muscly. Looking for match in amputee reformed assassins who also happen to be best friend. Likes long walks on the beach.”

 

Steve laughed again, dizzy with the knowledge that he’d done something that wasn’t awful.

 

“I’m throwing you a party,” Sam said, pulling out his phone. “It’s gonna be _great_.”

 

Steve shook his head fondly. “Please don’t.”

 

“Too late!”

 

What had Steve done to deserve this guy? He had no idea.

 

* * *

 

 

It was an indeterminate time later of not thinking too hard about anything at all before the next crisis.

 

Steve suited up into his tactical gear on the jet to Canada. He wondered when he’d switched from taking comfort in the solid weight of his shield to taking comfort in the sharp smell of gunmetal on his fingers. It made his mouth feel sour to think about.

 

Scott was back with them, which made Steve happier than he had any right to be, especially because of Cassie. Steve hoped all of this would blow over soon. He hoped everyone would be able to get back to their lives.

 

Sam hadn’t seen his mother for almost nine months. Of course, he’d been to war. But still. And Clint talked about his dog and Kate all the time. Steve knew he missed them.

 

Maybe it was only Wanda and Steve who didn’t have any other attachments making them homesick.

 

Well. Wanda had Vision, possibly. Steve didn’t know for sure, but he thought there was something there.

 

That just left Steve. And a frozen Bucky. So basically just Steve.

 

They got to Canada later than the Avengers, but Wakandan technology was definitely the best in the world, so their flight time was insanely reduced from what it could’ve been.

 

The Avengers were already in the thick of the fighting, and Steve scowled at the tentative news crews trying to get them on camera. Idiots. They may make it more difficult to beat a retreat this time around.

 

Tony flew over to them and lowered his faceplate. “Basically, we’ve got another evil team of super humans. I knew this would happen eventually, so hah! I told you so. We just encouraged more threats to—“

 

“Tony,” Steve interrupted, impatient.

 

Tony blinked. “Right. There are six of them. We could use your help.”

 

Steve nodded at his team, and they followed Tony into the fight.

 

Steve had a love/hate relationship with fighting other super humans. On the one hand, it was always way more challenging, and Steve always liked a challenge. On the other hand, sometimes he felt sure that they’d beat him one day. And what was he? A vaguely enhanced soldier who had once carried a spangled shield. There were a million ways to beat Steve. He couldn’t count on his wit or whatever forever.

 

They outnumbered these guys, though. As soon as the Secret Avengers joined the fight, they got desperate.

 

Vision and Tony had deposited four of them into the hands of the authorities before it got dicey. Wanda and Scott were closing in on the most powerful one with the help of pretty much everybody else, but they’d forgotten about the second one for a minute too long.

 

That super human was covered in spikes, which Steve thought was pretty fucking useless and vastly inconvenient. And way less of a threat than a person with telekinesis.

 

But they’d gotten desperate.

 

The second one, who Steve was calling Spike in his head, had managed to slip away, which Steve had taken note of but hadn’t been very worried about. How far away could a girl covered in Spikes _get_ before she got noticed? Not very far. So, he hadn’t worried.

 

He was the first to notice when Spike launched herself off a nearby roof with decided aim. Steve followed the trajectory and saw Tony fly right into her path.

 

They collided before Steve could even blink, rocketing for the ground too fast to save.

 

Steve leapt after them. His mind was a mess of, _No no no no no_. They hit the ground with a horrific crash, and Spike gouged her way through the metal of Tony’s suit. Steve raised his gun and frantically fired off a shot, hitting Spike in the back.

 

Spike faltered, but bullets obviously weren’t enough for her. She turned and smirked a terrifying, sharp-toothed smile at Steve. Steve threw himself the rest of the way and tackled her off of Tony.

 

Oh, shit. He had not thought this through.

 

The pain of the fine, needle-like spikes raced through his system, but Steve ignored it because Tony wasn’t moving. He grappled with Spike for a few minutes, tears of pain brimming his eyes, before something in the comms caught his attention.

 

“ _Steve, where are you? We arrested the telekinetic one, and the authorities are coming. We have to get out of here_ ,” Sam said, his voice urgent.

 

Steve gasped as Spike tore through his tactical vest, slicing the skin of his abdomen. “Get out of here, guys, I’ll be fine.”

 

“ _Steve_ ,” Wanda said.

 

“That’s a fucking order.” He ducked a punch.

 

“ _We aren’t leaving you, dude_ ,” Clint said.

 

“Think of it as returning the favor,” Steve gritted out, firing off another close-range shot at Spike, who let out a scream when it hit her in the hand. “Okay?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Sam was saying. “ _Nuh-uh, dude. There’s time. We can wait a minute. Where are you?_ ”

 

“ _Sam_ ,” T’Challa said firmly.

 

“ _Give us your location!_ ” Sam snapped.

 

“My location is get-the-fuck-out-of-here,” Steve managed. “I’ll find a way back to you.”

 

“ _Liar!_ ” Sam shouted. “ _We have to—_ “ There was a muffled struggle, and Steve gave his full attention to Spike again, desperately ignoring the UN helicopters in the area.

 

“ _I got him_ ,” T’Challa said, tone grim and sad. “ _Steve. Promise him you will come back, okay?_ ”

 

“I promise,” Steve said breathlessly, voice cracking a little bit. “Just get outta here.”

 

Steve fired off one last shot that was too close to miss.

 

The bullet went straight through Spike’s forehead, and her brain exploded onto the wall behind her as she crumpled with dead weight.

 

Steve stared at the picture for a shocked moment before throwing the gun aside and rushing back to Tony. He ripped off his faceplate and had a rapid flashback to the Battle of New York.

 

Tony’s eyes were closed, but he was breathing.

 

Steve dropped his forehead onto the wrecked metal of Tony’s suit. “Oh, thank god.”

 

He looked up after a moment of catching his breath to see some people in tactical gear rushing towards them. They looked at the gruesome scene of Spikes murder, then back to Steve, hovering beside an unconscious Iron Man. Steve realized how this looked with a sinking feeling.

 

“Captain Rogers,” one of them said as they raised their guns in unison. “Step away from Iron Man.”

 

Steve blinked and slowly raised his hands in defense, scooting away from Tony. “He’s hurt.”

 

The tac guys ignored him in favor of approaching him with cautious guns leveled at his head. “Captain Rogers, you’re under arrest,” the other one said, slowly pulling out some flimsy handcuffs.

 

Steve looked at them blankly and debated the course of action here.

 

He could run. Or he could stay.

 

What did he have to run home to, though? Sam would be fucking upset, but this wouldn’t destroy him. Sam had other people in his life to support him, and he’d survived so much worse, a lot of it because of Steve. The rest of the Secret Avengers had everyone else to go home to. And Bucky was frozen. Bucky wouldn’t even have the right to give a shit because he was fucking _frozen_.

 

(How would Bucky feel if he got woken up just to be told Steve had been executed at the hands of the UN? Steve felt a little bit guilty, but he mostly felt tired.)

 

He hadn’t thought that this was justice during the whole thing. Arresting Bucky without a trial hadn’t been justice. But this could be justice. Maybe. If Steve played it right.

 

Steve offered his wrists to the tac guys, who both seemed to shove down a double take of shock

 

“Will I have any negotiation power?” Steve asked quietly as the cuffs were slammed onto his wrists.

 

“First degree murder and treason typically don’t give people much negotiation room,” the guy with the cuffs said wryly.

 

Well. When you put it that way.

 

Tony stirred with a groan and blinked blearily at the scene. “What’re you—?” he slurred.

 

The guys ignored Tony and roughly shoved Steve to his feet. Steve stopped himself from staggering.

 

Tony sat up more urgently. “What’re you doing?” he demanded.

 

“Arresting him,” the first guy said.

 

Tony’s jaw dropped open inelegantly. “What?”

 

“Treason. First degree murder,” the second guy said in exasperation. “Do those mean nothing to you people?”

 

“But. He’s Captain America,” Tony said, bewildered.

 

Steve made a noise of protest, but it was ignored.

 

“Well, he’s still under arrest.”

 

Tony was rendered speechless, and Steve watched him flounder with what to say until Steve was shoved into the nearest helicopter.

 

They put a bag over his head.

 

Steve closed his eyes and tried not to think as the engine roared to life.

 

It was almost a good thing when Steve heard the hum of electricity crackle to life, and everything faded away with a sharp shudder of pain.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve woke up in one of those cells that he’d broken the rest of the Secret Avengers out of.

 

Great.

 

It wasn’t like Steve had actually been _doing_ anything worthwhile in Wakanda, but this was kind of a bummer.

 

Although. He had sort of assigned himself a mission here. Maybe this was the last worthwhile thing he’d ever do. The thought was kind of nice.

 

Steve had never been legitimately imprisoned in such a literal sense before. It was just as boring as he’d always thought it would be.

 

Across the bars, he could see a few of the super humans from the fight. He’d been degraded from Captain America to something as inconsequential as a nameless super villain in a battle everyone would forget about in a few weeks. Steve was stupidly pleased with this turn of events. The outside would finally match his inside.

 

Steve glanced down. They’d changed him into a prison suit, almost identical to the one he’d found Sam in when he had broken everyone out of here. Steve wondered when it had stopped freaking him out to wake up in a different outfit, knowing someone had changed him while he was unconscious.

 

There was the sound of sharp, clicking heels, and Steve looked up again. A woman walked into view and came to stop in front of his cell.

 

Steve stared at her, unreasonably startled. “Sharon.”

 

“Steve,” she said with a curt nod.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m the good cop,” she said with a bitter smile.

 

Steve hadn’t seen her in nearly nine months. At least there was no possibility of discussing the fact that Steve had kissed her right now. That was a relief. Steve couldn’t even begin to explain himself. “Listen,” Steve said, rising to stand on shaking legs. “Listen, do you think you can get me any negotiating power?”

 

Sharon frowned warily. “Treason. First degree murder.”

 

Steve scowled. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I know what I did. It’s not for _me_ , anyway. It’s for the others.”

 

Sharon looked at him with interest. “What do you want, then?”

 

“I want an exchange,” Steve said quietly. “My freedom for theirs. I want everyone else who was following me to be pardoned.”

 

Sharon didn’t say anything. She just regarded him skeptically.

 

“They were all just following me. They aren’t dangerous. I’m the dangerous one.”

 

Sharon looked very tired all of a sudden. “I’ll see what I can do, okay? You haven’t put yourself in a great negotiating position, but I think we may be able to swing that deal if we play it right.”

 

Steve let out a breath of relief. “ _Thank you._ ”

 

“Is that why you didn’t run?” she asked curiously. “You wanted to see if you could get this deal?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve admitted. “They don’t deserve to be fugitives for the rest of their lives.”

 

Sharon nodded. “Fair enough.” They stared at each other for a moment before Sharon cleared her throat and looked away. “Well, I just wanted you to have a familiar face to wake up to.”

 

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” Steve said wryly.

 

Sharon shrugged. “I know.” She took a step away. “Just holler if you need anything.” And then she was gone with the clicks of her heels.

 

Steve sat down and shakily ran a hand through his hair. He was probably going to die. He was probably going to be executed at the hands of a governmental institution that he’d been led to trust, once upon a time. He didn’t feel very bad about the whole situation, but he did feel incredibly guilty about how the others would react.

 

Sam would blame himself. But Sam had also blamed himself for Riley’s death and for Rhodey’s paralysis, so he’d probably recover from it eventually. He was strong and brave like that. He’d be the worst affected of the Secret Avengers. Everyone else would be able to get on with their lives.

 

Natasha would probably be pretty upset too. Steve didn’t know how she’d react. She’d probably attach herself to Sam and Bucky to make sure they didn’t spiral with grief, which would in turn help her not spiral.

 

But Bucky. Steve wouldn’t lie to himself. He knew Bucky would be a wreck when he found out, especially if that’s how they woke him up. _Hey, surprise, we’ve got your deconditioning shit, your best friend is dead, do you want a smoothie?_ Maybe Bucky would tragically crash a plane or something to deal with it, but Steve doubted it. Bucky had always been better at dealing with shit than Steve.

 

(Steve just wished he could maybe say goodbye.)

 

He was jolted out of his thoughts when the cell he was in gave a little shudder. What the fuck? Was it moving? Steve stood up, and yeah, the room had started to sink, going under the floor. Steve was frozen in alarm as the light started to fade, and then he was enclosed on all sides. What the fuck?

 

He was about to do... something to figure this out, when the floor above him started sliding over, creating a ceiling. Steve started to panic. They were going to box him inside this cell. In the dark. His breathing hitched as his pulse skyrocketed, but there was nothing he could do as the cell went pitch black.

 

He couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t even hear anything besides his own frantic breathing. Steve felt along the walls for something—anything. But it was all smooth. He collapsed onto the floor and felt for the pulse point on his neck, but this didn’t really work unless he was feeling a normal pulse, and his pulse was definitely not normal right now—

 

And, oh great, he was having a panic attack.

 

Steve didn’t know how long it took to recover, but he was exhausted. He curled into a ball on the ground and didn’t know if his eyes were shut or not because the darkness wouldn’t make any difference.

 

He fell asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Time passed weirdly in the darkness of his solitary confinement.

 

Steve obviously couldn’t keep track, so he didn’t know how long anything was anymore. He couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t hear anything that wasn’t noise he made himself. It was kind of a nightmare.

 

Steve had read that people could go mad like this. Maybe that was the idea.

 

Whenever Steve felt particularly terrible about his situation, he’d make as much noise as possible, just to be able to hear it.

 

He got good at navigating the cell blind. It wasn’t that big to memorize the layout anyway.

 

He got meals sent down at irregular intervals through a hatch. Steve didn’t bother trying to keep track of time through them because he knew they were just fucking with him. They wanted him thoroughly disoriented.

 

Steve thought he was probably starting to go mad, though. He’d gotten... nervous, or something. He was picking at his skin all the time, and he couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Maybe they were just loading up his meals with drugs, but maybe he was really going crazy now.

 

He didn’t know how much time had passed.

 

And he didn’t

 

know what

 

to do.

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

(He didn’t want to go crazy.)

 

...

 

...

 

(Maybe he’d already been crazy, though.)

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

(He wanted them to kill him already.)

 

...

 

(Why hadn’t they fucking killed him yet?)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve cried out hoarsely when his surroundings gave a lurch.

 

He scrambled to his feet and felt along the walls, and holy shit, the cell was moving.

 

The ceiling slid away, and Steve went blind with the sudden light. He hissed in pain and clapped his hands over his eyes.

 

He didn’t uncover them when the cell had stopped moving. Everything was too bright too bright too loud too close—

 

“Steve?”

 

Steve flinched. He forced himself to peek through the fingers of one hand, squinting ridiculously at Tony Fucking Stark. He closed his fingers again.

 

“Oh my god, the fuck did they do to you?” Tony asked quietly.

 

Steve’s voice was still hoarse with disuse when he mumbled, “Solitary confinement. I dunno.” Fuck, it was so loud out here. Why was it so loud?

 

Tony swore colorfully under his breath.

 

Steve sat down heavily and put his head down between his knees, hoping to clear his head. He picked at the skin at the back of his neck before remembering that he wasn’t alone anymore. He shoved his hands under his thighs and kept his eyes closed. “How long have I been in here?” Steve asked after a minute.

 

“Forty-four days,” Tony spat out.

 

“Wow,” Steve said. That was a while.

 

“This is—cruel and unusual punishment,” Tony shouted, supposedly for the UN authorities to hear. “This is such a violation of everything you stand for—“

 

An intercom crackled to life, and Steve jerked away from the noise and curled into himself, breathing harshly. Fuck. Why was everything so loud? “Mr. Stark,” a voice said. General Ross. Steve shivered. “We isolated Captain Rogers in order to protect him from the potential violence of the other five prisoners until they were... dealt with.”

 

Steve had been kept alone so that they had time to execute those five super humans. So, this was some sort of death row for super humans.

 

“You kept him in the dark by himself for a month and a half,” Tony said. “That’s not protection.”

 

“We assumed his super sight would lend him the ability to see. We didn’t want to waste electricity.”

 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re turning this into an environmental issue when you literally built this prison in a location that disrupts aquatic habitats and—we’re not getting into this right now.”

 

“We will remove you from the premises, Mr. Stark,” General Ross said, an edge to his voice.

 

Tony scoffed. “Sure you will,” he muttered to himself, but he didn’t say anything else to General Ross. “Steve? Look at me, man.”

 

“Bright,” Steve croaked.

 

“Fine. Just. Open your eyes slowly. Try to acclimate to it. Okay?”

 

Tony’s voice was so shockingly gentle and was pretty much exactly what Steve needed. He took a shuddering breath before slowly cracking one eye open. Bright spots danced dizzily in his vision of the floor. It took him twenty minutes to be able to hold both eyes open at a dangerous squint without pain splitting his head.

 

He slowly looked up at Tony, who looked like he wanted to hurt somebody. “Better?” he asked quietly.

 

Steve stopped himself from moving to pick at the skin on his arm. That was bad and unhealthy and maybe they’d send him back underground if he did it where they could see. And Tony would be mad too, probably. He swallowed roughly. “A little.”

 

“Have they been feeding you?” Tony asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

He nodded a few times. “Good. That’s good.”

 

“What time of day is it?” Steve asked after a beat of hesitation. He scratched at his cheek, hyperaware of the beard that had grown in there.

 

“Noon,” Tony said, still looking incredibly sad.

 

“Okay.”

 

Tony cleared his throat. “I wanted to thank you for saving me. The day you got arrested. You didn’t have to do that.”

 

“’Course I did,” Steve said. “You’re my—“ Steve cut himself off, realizing he was about to say, _friend_. Of course Tony didn’t think of him as a friend anymore. Why would he?

 

Tony looked away, hearing what Steve hadn’t said anyway. “I came here for a surprise visit on my way to Wakanda.”

 

Steve blinked once.

 

“They weren’t letting me visit. I figured if I came by unannounced, they’d have no choice.”

 

Steve smiled humorlessly. “I guess it worked.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So, you’re going to see King T’Challa.”

 

Tony nodded, his eyes searching Steve with such a deliberate force that Steve knew he was going to deliver the deconditioning technology. Steve did smile a tiny, genuine smile. Bucky was going to get his mind back. “Why do you want to know?” Tony asked, pretending to sound suspicious. “Is there, like, a message or something you’d want to pass to the King of Wakanda?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, hoping his voice sounded sarcastic. He was all too aware of the amount of people listening in on the conversation. “Tell him I miss him, and that I’m sorry.”

 

Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes, but Steve didn’t miss the involuntary twitch of his expression that showed something immensely sad. “Sure thing, Cap.”

 

Steve relaxed slightly. That was good. Tony was going to be a messenger. That was good.

 

“I’m gonna try and make sure they don’t pull that ‘protection’ shit again,” Tony said after a pause, throwing in venomous air quotes. “They fucked up your senses.”

 

“They want me disoriented so that I can’t escape. It’s a good tactic,” Steve said, lifting a shoulder. “Except, I’m not going to try to escape, so it’s pointless.”

 

Tony hummed. “They’re not going to believe that after you broke everyone else out of here.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve mused. He picked at the skin of his knuckles, then realized what he was doing, and shoved his hands back under his thighs.

 

Tony saw it all and winced. “Okay, I’ve really gotta go. King T’Challa is a busy guy, and I literally am not allowed to keep him waiting. I’ll try to check in on my way back home, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Steve whispered. His ears were ringing with the amount of noise around him. It was too loud.

 

Tony looked at him for another beat, and then hastily retreated.

 

Steve closed his eyes and tried to put his hands over his ears as discretely as possible.

 

He couldn’t sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony did come back a little while later. Steve thought it had probably been around a week, but his time conception was seriously fucked, so he wasn’t even remotely sure.

 

“How was your visit?” Steve asked immediately. He tried not to sound too anxious about it, but he was wringing his hands and shaking like a leaf.

 

Tony smiled a really lovely, genuine smile. “It was good. I’d say it was pretty successful.”

 

“ _’Pretty_ successful’?” Steve prompted. Not 100% successful?

 

“Yeah. We fixed everything important to fix. The rest can be taken care of with time,” Tony explained, looking tired and very fucking relieved. “But, uh, he wasn’t very happy. He also thought your message was rude.”

 

Of course Bucky was unhappy with him. Steve had gotten himself on super human death row while Bucky’d been frozen. “Yeah, I kind of expected that.”

 

“He says you better watch your back.”

 

“Does he?” Steve huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. He felt like bursting into song. The conditioning was broken. Bucky was awake and furious with him. The world was right.

 

“Yeah. I think relations between the Avengers and Wakanda are going to be okay, though.” Steve felt like letting out a hysterical laugh of relief but somehow managed to suppress the urge. Tony flashed a small smile before his expression dimmed into something grim. “They haven’t put you back underground, have they?”

 

“No,” Steve said.

 

Tony frowned, narrowing his eyes at Steve. “Have—have you slept at all since I last saw you?”

 

Steve didn’t say anything for a minute. When Tony cursed, he whispered, “Too bright. Too loud.”

 

“WE ARE GOING TO HAVE WORDS, GENERAL ROSS!” Tony shouted at the ceiling. Steve flinched.

 

“You already yelled at him,” Sharon said, walking into view as she approached Tony.

 

“Well, I’m going to yell at him again.”

 

“I’ll join you,” Sharon muttered under her breath, quiet enough that Steve hoped only the three of them could hear it.

 

Steve looked at Sharon, and she seemed exhausted. “Hey,” he said.

 

“Hey. You doing okay in here?”

 

Steve shrugged. He wasn’t sure if that was a rhetorical question or not. Apparently, over forty days in solitary confinement wasn’t doing his conversationalist skills any favors. “Have the others been pardoned?” he asked instead.

 

Sharon ran a hand through her hair. “Working on it.”

 

Tony looked between them and glared at Steve. “Is that why you got yourself arrested?” he demanded incredulously.

 

“I was under the impression that you wanted me to get arrested,” Steve said wryly.

 

Tony sputtered for a moment, finally settling on, “No!”

 

“I’m trying to make amends,” Steve said tiredly. “I’ve heard that there’s this whole concept of getting better. I thought I might give it a try.”

 

“I don’t think that’s what they meant,” Tony said quietly.

 

Steve picked at the skin on his thigh for a moment before remembering not to do that. “This is better,” Steve said firmly. “Not like there’s anything to go home to anymore.”

 

Sharon gave him an incredulous look. “Have you literally forgotten everything about the people who care about you?” she snapped, then closed her mouth with a click.

 

“They’ll get over it.”

 

“I can think of at least one person who won’t,” Tony said.

 

Steve scowled at them both. “Why are you suddenly playing Devil’s Advocate when I finally decide to agree with you?”

 

Tony and Sharon paused to exchange a slightly confused look. “I guess it’s in my nature to argue with you,” Tony said at the same time that Sharon said, “I’m just calling them like I see it.”

 

Steve sighed. “Alright.”

 

Sharon nodded to herself. “Well, they sent me here to collect Tony and inform you that you’re going to be sentenced tomorrow.”

 

Steve frowned. “I get a trial?”

 

“Sort of,” Sharon hedged. Tony and Steve stared at her, and she sighed. “You’re having a hearing with defense and prosecuting arguments. However, you are not going to be present due to the danger you pose and your mental instability.”

 

Steve nodded. “I’m going to get executed,” he said to no one in particular. “They just have to decide how I’m gonna go.”

 

“The others got lethal injections,” Sharon said, jerking her head towards the ominously empty cells.

 

Steve smirked humorlessly. “Well. Gotta go out the way I came in.”

 

“Why did I never know you were this morbid?” Tony muttered, and Steve almost laughed.

 

“A certain someone is going to raise hell,” Sharon said, ignoring Tony. She subtly rolled her left arm, indicating Bucky pretty clearly.

 

Steve grinned, and it probably looked as deliriously enamored as a person could get. “Probably. Watch out for it.”

 

Tony was chewing on his lip kind of savagely. Steve felt a little bit bad for making him worry. “Are you ready to go, Tony?” Sharon asked, offering him her elbow.

 

Tony sighed. “We can yell at Ross on the way, right?”

 

“Of course, bro,” Sharon said, reaching over to ruffle Tony’s hair. Tony ducked away from her, scowling.

 

“Stooooop.”

 

“Never.”

 

Tony shot Steve a look over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Steve, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Steve said. “And if you don’t, please know that I’m sorry for everything.”

 

Tony looked away. “I know you are. And me too,” he muttered before they disappeared from view.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve wasn’t surprised when the cell lurched and he disappeared back underground.

 

It was... kind of a relief.

 

He fell asleep faster than he had in over seventy years.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve woke up with a jolt to a vaguely electrical sound. The only light in the cell attracted the eye like a moth to a buzzer. Steve stared at the odd crackles of electricity, dumbfounded. It appeared to be cutting a wide hole in the ground.

 

_What the fuck?_

 

The piece of the ground fell away, and the first thing Steve saw in the new dim lighting was cat ears.

 

T’Challa poked his head up, and Steve couldn’t read his expression through the mask, but he imagined the tight anger there. “We have to leave.”

 

Steve crossed his arms. “No.”

 

“You don’t understand,” T’Challa snapped, and he was the most furious Steve had ever seen him. “ _We have to leave_.”

 

“I’m not going,” Steve snapped right back.

 

“Yes, you are.”

 

“Don’t you want them to be able to live normal lives and not be fugitives anymore?” Steve demanded. “I’m working on it.”

 

“No, you are offering yourself on a silver platter on the faint chance that they will consider pardoning them. I know diplomacy more than I know myself. Empty promises are the only way to keep men like you pacified.”

 

Steve clenched his jaw and said nothing.

 

“We have to leave,” T’Challa said again, his voice slightly softer this time.

 

“No,” Steve said, voice cracking. “There’s gotta be some form of justice here.”

 

T’Challa sighed and approached him cautiously, lifting the mask off so that Steve could see his face. “Justice is as dead as Captain America. Justice is as dead as my father.”

 

Steve closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see the sad understanding in T’Challa’s eyes.

 

“We don’t have much time, Steve. We have to leave.”

 

“I guess I already knew these sorts of institutions were too corrupt for justice anymore,” Steve whispered. “Maybe that’s why I fought them as long as I did. But I don’t think I can do it anymore. I think if I fight anymore, I’m gonna destroy a lot more than myself.”

 

“You can stop fighting,” T’Challa said calmly. “We just have to leave.”

 

Steve hunched his shoulders. “This is the easy way out, you know,” he muttered, jerking his head in the vague direction of the rest of the prison. “I’ve wanted to die for the majority of my life.”

 

“Not yet,” T’Challa said with more vehemence than Steve would expect. “You owe it to Bucky. You owe it to Sam. You owe it to _us_.”

 

“Too selfish,” Steve muttered to himself. “I can’t do it. I _can’t_ —“

 

“You can, or I will do it for you.”

 

When Steve made no move to do anything, T’Challa let out a frustrated breath.

 

“Don’t say I never warned you,” he said lowly.

 

Then he punched Steve in one fluid motion, and the world went away.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve woke up on a jet.

 

T’Challa was glaring at him from the pilot seat, his jaw clenched tightly. “How is your head?”

 

Steve sat up. “Fine.” He scratched his face. “Do you have a razor?”

 

T’Challa narrowed his eyes.

 

“I’m not gonna hurt myself,” Steve said, annoyed. “My face is just itchy.”

 

T’Challa rubbed his jaw tiredly. “I have a pair of scissors.”

 

“That’s a start.”

 

“You will cut yourself.”

 

“I have super healing.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Steve awkwardly cut away as much of the bear as he could manage. Soon, he had atrociously patchy, uneven stubble, but it was better than nothing. He kicked the fallen hair into a gross pile.

 

“Did you use the sentencing hearing as a distraction?” Steve asked, walking over to sit next to T’Challa.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Who told you where to find me?”

 

“Stark. And Carter.”

 

Steve nodded a few times. “Okay. Where are we going?”

 

T’Challa sighed. “A few months ago, I purchased a small cottage on the outside of a small town in Wakanda. The cottage is completely isolated, but trips into town are not terribly perilous.”

 

Steve frowned. “Why’d you buy it?”

 

T’Challa didn’t look at him. “Sam told me that Bucky wanted to find a home in the middle of nowhere once he was defrosted. I thought I would give you an option.”

 

Steve was rendered speechless. “You bought us a house?”

 

“You do not need to use it,” T’Challa said, uncomfortable. “But, yes.”

 

T’Challa wasn’t actively flying the plane, so Steve didn’t stop himself from throwing them into a hug. T’Challa froze for an instant before hugging him back, saving Steve from anxiously pulling away in embarrassment. Steve stepped away before he could start to cling. He literally didn’t know the last time he’d showered, and he didn’t want to get his smell all over T’Challa. Also. He didn’t want to cling. Even if he hadn’t been touched in over a month.

 

“Just so you know,” T’Challa said after a semi-awkward pause, “everyone is furious with you. Including me.”

 

“I know,” Steve said.

 

“They are all waiting at the cottage.”

 

“I’m also furious with you for forcing me to escape,” Steve said.

 

T’Challa hummed. “I don’t care.”

 

Steve struggled to come up with a response. When he found nothing to say, the jet drifted into silence.


	4. How To Set Yourself Up For A Healthy Path Of Recovery (Finally), A Guide By Steven G. Rogers

 

 

The first thing Steve registered was that the cottage was beautiful.

 

The second thing was the one-armed reformed assassin who was literally vibrating with rage.

 

Steve’s heart exploded with warmth as Bucky went full Murder Strut™ (Natasha’s words, not his) to the landing jet.

 

“I’m in love with him,” Steve informed T’Challa as Bucky waited impatiently for them to open the hatch.

 

“I know,” T’Challa said dryly, opening the hatch.

 

Bucky stalked into the jet before the hatch had even fully opened, and Steve hastily got to his feet, waiting for the rage-fueled lecture.

 

Bucky didn’t stop walking until their chests were touching, and he fisted his hand roughly in Steve’s hair. “Steven Grant Rogers, you fucking bastard,” he gasped venomously, and then he was yanking Steve down, and their mouths slammed together so quickly that Steve’s heart stopped, and he barely even had time to register it before Bucky was pulling back. “I can’t believe you would _do_ this to me,” he exploded as Steve gaped at him.

 

Bucky had just kissed Steve.

 

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Bucky didn’t seem to notice Steve’s shock.

 

“I was frozen for barely a fucking month, and you offer yourself up like turkey for Thanksgiving? What the fuck, Steve, they were going to kill you. They were going to literally, physically, _actually_ kill you. You didn’t even stop to think about the rest of us? What did you think this would do to me? And that’s not even the point. I literally had my survival instincts _tortured_ out of me, and you managed to get rid of yours all by yourself? You have no sense of self-preservation! Do you really, _really_ want to die that badly?” Bucky shouted it rapid, hysterical syllables. He pulled Steve down and kissed him again, just as quickly. “I don’t know what I’d do with myself. Actually: I do. Last time you died, I went full Winter Soldier. But, fuck, this isn’t about me at all. This is about you. Fuck.” Steve framed Bucky’s face with his hands and leaned down to press another quick, blink-and-you-miss-it kiss to his lips, and Bucky barely even paused for breath, not finished. “Do you want to die _that badly_?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Steve whispered, still in shock. “I was just—“

 

“You weren’t thinking,” Bucky snapped. “Why do you try to kill yourself every time I turn my fucking back?” he demanded, and there was another tiny kiss.

 

Steve was dizzy and overwhelmed, and he wanted to cry. He barely noticed T’Challa slowly slinking out of the jet. “I don’t know,” Steve said, voice cracking. “You’re the only thing keeping me here.”

 

“Don’t put me up on a fucking pedestal like that.”

 

“Fine,” Steve snapped. “But this time, I was trying to protect everyone else. I was trying to exchange all of your freedom for mine.”

 

There was another quick kiss that Steve couldn’t tell who initiated. “No, come on, you fucking asshole, you know that’s no way to protect anyone.”

 

Steve scoffed bitterly. “Oh, and it’s totally honorable to protect people by fucking freezing yourself.”

 

“You know that’s completely different.”

 

“Is it?” Steve hissed angrily, nudging their noses together. Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut. “You made your choice, and I respected it. I made my choice, and you didn’t respect it.” Steve pressed another kiss to Bucky’s lips, slightly longer this time.

 

“What did you want me to do?” Bucky shouted. “Let you die?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Would you rather I’d have been dangerous and instable for almost a whole fucking year instead of freeze myself?”

 

“Yes. Because we would’ve dealt with it _together_ —“

 

“Oh, like how you dealt with your shit?” Bucky sneered. “You were destroying yourself.”

 

“I just wanted you to stop leaving!” Steve shouted, and silence fell upon them for a moment. “You keep leaving,” Steve said, much quieter, his voice cracking pathetically.

 

“I told you,” Bucky breathed. “I’m not the only one of us who’s left.”

 

“You’ve left me way more than I’ve left you.”

 

“I—“ Bucky said, but there was apparently no end to the sentence.

 

“I don’t know if I can do it anymore. I don’t know if I can keep watching you leave. I can’t keep—I can’t—“

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You’re not.”

 

Bucky sighed. “Not for freezing myself. I’m sorry I left.”

 

Steve shook his head rapidly, and Bucky made a hushing noise and stopped the movement with a kiss to his forehead. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep fighting. I have to stop.”

 

“So, stop. We’ll live here. T’Challa bought it for us.”

 

“I don’t know if I can do it,” Steve said. “Can’t fucking live without a war. Can’t keep fighting. You can’t blame me for wanting to die, Buck.”

 

Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment. He kissed Steve again, and as he moved to pull away, Steve turned his head, and then Bucky was licking at Steve’s lips, and Steve was gasping, and they were necking like fucking teenagers, and Steve had never felt so alive or relaxed in his life.

 

His skin was on fire, but this was also just... a different way of coming home. It was so new and strange, but it somehow didn’t feel that way. It was just—home.

 

“Yo, Sour Patch, some of us still have to yell at Steve,” came an angry voice from the outside of the jet.

 

They broke apart, gasping, and Bucky took a step back with a glare, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “For once, I definitely agree with Wilson.”

 

Steve was still reeling from the kiss when Sam walked up to him, gave him a furious once-over, and punched Steve in the nose.

 

“Fuck,” Steve hissed in pain as Sam shook out his hand.

 

“How could you do this to us?” Sam said quietly, and he wasn’t even angry anymore. He just looked sad.

 

“I was trying to get you guys pardoned. So you could go back to your real lives,” Steve said, clutching his nose, which was trying to rapidly restructure itself. Sam had broken his nose. Holy shit, he was really mad.

 

“Steve. _You’re_ a part of our real lives.”

 

“I just wanted to fix something, for once,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky made a wounded noise in the back of his throat, and Sam swallowed roughly. “That’s not the way to do it,” Sam finally said.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t do that to me again. Please? I’ve lost too many—“ Sam cut himself off and cleared his throat. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

 

Steve felt like the worst person in the entire world. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I’ll forgive you if you promise to never do it again,” Sam said, arching an eyebrow.

 

Steve took a deep, shuddering breath. “Fine. I promise.”

 

“Good.” Then, he tackled Steve in a hug before immediately trying to pull away. “Holy fuck, you smell like—“

 

“A dead horse,” Bucky supplied.

 

“—a dead donkey,” Sam said, completely ignoring Bucky.

 

“I haven’t showered in over a month,” Steve said.

 

Sam looked at Steve in horror, and Steve could see his mind screaming in terror as he carefully took a step back and looked at Bucky. “Barnes, take him to the shower.”

 

Bucky frowned. “Why me?”

 

“Because you make out now, and now it’s okay to do that, obviously,” Sam said impatiently. “Wait. Everyone else still has to yell at you first.”

 

“Joy,” Steve muttered.

 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm in a death grip on Steve’s left side, and Sam left two feet of space between him on the right side while still trying to steer him out of the jet.

 

T’Challa, Clint, Wanda, Scott, Natasha, and Tony had evidently gathered in front of the cottage.

 

“Oh, boy,” Steve said under his breath, preparing himself.

 

He did not expect Wanda to burst into tears as soon as she saw him. Steve cursed and rushed over to her, and she clung to his prison jumpsuit even though he smelled like shit, and Steve tried to be as comforting as possible, but it was also really fucking bright and really fucking loud, and his skin was crawling with hyperawareness.

 

Tony was the one who noticed his sudden panic. “Let’s go inside,” he suggested, and he only got a few weird looks before they were all trooping inside. Steve nodded at Tony in relief, and Tony looked away.

 

The inside of the cottage was just as beautiful as the outside. Steve didn’t even want to touch anything. He sat down on the floor of the living room, and Wanda sat next to him, not bothering to tone down her tears at all. Bucky and Sam sat on his other side. Everyone else settled for the furniture.

 

Natasha broke the silence first. “Do you understand why what you did was wrong?” Her tone was scary, and Steve felt appropriately ashamed and scared.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you really?” she pressed.

 

Steve shot her a semi-terrified glare. “I’m not allowed to be suicidal like that and put your lives above mine, or something.”

 

“You’re not allowed to take that choice away from them,” Natasha corrected, gesturing to the Secret Avengers. “You can’t sacrifice your life for their freedom without their say.”

 

“Fine,” Steve snapped.

 

“We’ve all dealt with you improperly,” Natasha went on. “We need you to understand something. You have to make an effort to care, and you have to make an effort to get yourself better. Not just out of obligation, but for yourself. Are we clear?”

 

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

 

“You are going to _try_ ,” Natasha growled.

 

“Fine.”

 

Natasha leaned back in her seat, satisfied.

 

“Is it my turn?” Scott asked. “Because that was really intimidating and I don’t know if I can follow that.”

 

“We don’t all have to be intimidating,” Natasha said with an eye roll.

 

“Oh. Okay.” Scott cleared his throat. “So, as I understand it, you were trying to do this so we could go back to our normal lives. That’d be basically Cassie for me. And I’m not gonna lie, that does sound appealing, but not like that.”

 

Steve stared at his lap.

 

“Like. If you died, and that was the only way I’d be able to see Cassie regularly again? That just makes the whole thing feel like shit. There’s gotta be a better way. I would never want your death to be a shadow over any time I spend with my daughter. We’ll figure out something better, okay?”

 

Steve sniffled and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “Okay,” he whispered.

 

Scott sat back, looking both smug and sad at the same time.

 

Clint leaned forward next. “No,” he said.

 

“No?” Steve asked hesitantly.

 

“No,” Clint repeated, and then leaned back, evidently done. Bucky nodded at him as if he’d just made a speech he’d agreed with vehemently.

 

“To add on to Clint’s excellent point,” Tony began, “No way.”

 

“Good one, bro,” Clint whispered.

 

Tony nodded at Clint. “That’s not what any of us wanted. I agreed to the Accords because I thought it’d bring some justice to the whole thing, okay? Arresting Captain America after he saved me isn’t justice, though. Saying you committed first-degree murder during a battle when none of us have ever had that sort of allegation isn’t fair. I agree with General Ross on a lot of things, but severely punishing former Avengers has never been one of them.” At that, Tony swept his eyes slowly around the room, and Wanda made a noise of distress. “Additionally, I have some awesome lawyers that could try and get your buddies pardoned _without_ any bloodshed. Imagine that. Doing anything without bloodshed.”

 

Bucky and Sam exchanged a wince and looked completely shocked when Steve laughed. “I guess I have to figure that one out,” Steve said.

 

“Yeah, you do.”

 

T’Challa cleared his throat, and Steve braced himself. “Don’t scare us like that again,” he said sternly. “You are stronger than you know, and you are definitely capable of living without a war. Especially if you are ready to surrender, and I know you’ve been ready for that since I found you in Siberia.”

 

Bucky looked at Steve guiltily, but Steve ignored him for a moment. He nodded a few times. “Alright.”

 

“I don’t even have anything to say,” Wanda said, her voice thick. “Nothing.”

 

Steve winced. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Good,” Bucky grumbled, scowling at the room. He got to his feet. “Now. I’ve been told you need a shower.”

 

The entire room suddenly pretended to be very interested in the floor. Save for Natasha, who slowly held up both hands. With a completely straight face, she made a circle with her fingers on one hand, and extended the index finger on her other hand. Then, she jabbed the index finger into the empty circle several times. Steve choked a little bit and weakly let Bucky pull him to his feet.

 

Bucky laced their fingers and led them through a bedroom that Steve barely got to look at and into a bathroom.

 

From the other room, Steve heard Tony ask loudly, “What the fuck, are they fucking?” Bucky pretended not to hear, so Steve didn’t acknowledge it either.

 

“Do you want to be alone?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve didn’t know. His skin was on fire with how long he’d been exposed to lights and noise, but this was Bucky. And Bucky had kissed him. And there was a shower right behind them. “I don’t think so.”

 

“You tell me if you change your mind,” Bucky whispered, shooting Steve a glare that had no heat. He looked at Steve’s chest. “Jesus,” he hissed, tugging lightly at the jumpsuit. “Let’s get you out of this.”

 

Steve arched an eyebrow. “You wanna do it for me?”

 

“Depends,” Bucky said. “Can I rip it?”

 

“Yeah, why not.”

 

Bucky grabbed the collar and roughly yanked it until it tore a long line down Steve’s torso. Bucky yanked again, and again, and suddenly Steve was naked in front of his best friend who had just kissed him after Steve had almost had himself killed again.

 

Not that they’d never seen each other naked or anything, but this was different.

 

Steve blushed. “Um.”

 

Bucky shoved him into the shower. “You smell like literal death.”

 

“Romantic,” Steve said dryly. He turned on the water and hissed as soon as it hit his back, not used to the feeling after such a long time.

 

“Better than a hose, amirightoramiright?” Bucky said, smiling, and Steve laughed. “Do you need any help in there?”

 

“Nope. I just thought you could watch me like I’m a museum exhibit,” Steve said.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Punk.”

 

“Jerk,” Steve said, and then almost burst into tears. How long had it been since they’d said that to each other? Too long.

 

“Aw, fuck,” Bucky muttered and stepped into the shower, still fully clothed. He reached up to hold Steve’s jaw. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve managed. “I love you.”

 

“Love you too,” Bucky murmured.

 

“Why did you kiss me?” Steve asked, sniffling as he reached for the soap and began to scrub the grime off his skin.

 

Bucky shrugged. “Because I’ve wanted to since 1936, and it kind of just slipped out because I was angry and happy to see you.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

There was a pause. “Why did you kiss _me_?” Bucky asked.

 

“Because you’re _my_ person.”

 

“Aw,” Bucky said, touching his dog tags, somehow still around Steve’s neck. “You’re mine too.”

 

“I know,” Steve said with an eye roll.

 

Bucky stood on his tiptoes and kissed him again, a tiny, innocent peck. “Also. Can we keep doing that?”

 

“Kissing?”

 

“Yes. That.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Sweet,” Bucky said. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Look at us. Talking about feelings like grown adults.”

 

Steve reached out and placed his hands on Bucky’s hips, getting his clothes even more wet. Bucky looked up at Steve, still smiling a little bit. “Look at us,” Steve echoed.

 

They kissed again, a lot more slowly than they had on the jet, and Steve felt like he was trying to consume Bucky as Bucky consumed him, and it was just an all-around great time. They pulled away to catch their breaths, foreheads resting together.

 

“I think I’m kind of in shock,” Steve breathed.

 

“Wait. Like. _Actual_ shock?”

 

“No, no. I’m not hurt. Like. Normal shock.”

 

“Oh. That’s okay, then. Me too.”

 

Steve finished cleaning the disgusting grime off of his body, and then he shaved, and it was so liberating that he almost cried.

 

“I’ll go find you some clothes,” Bucky said and stepped out of the bathroom. He returned with sweatpants and a T-shirt, which Steve put on.

 

They walked back to the living room in silence.

 

“How was your shower?” Natasha asked, waggling her eyebrows.

 

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand. “Enlightening.”

 

Tony choked on what seemed to be nothing.

 

T’Challa and Sam were in the kitchen, and Sam was laughing as T’Challa apparently tried to cook them something with very little success. “Stick to being royal, Kit-Kat.”

 

T’Challa frowned. “I thought I was doing okay.”

 

“Oh, honey boo-bear, no.”

 

Steve looked back at the living room, and Wanda was sleeping on Clint while Scott and Tony watched TV. And. Natasha was smirking at them and Bucky was at his side and. This was it. This was his family.

 

Steve wiped at his face, hoping nobody noticed the tears. But he was tired and oversensitive and overwhelmed and nothing made sense and his family was here. Fuck.

 

Bucky bumped their shoulders together in question. “I’m okay,” Steve said hurriedly. “I’m okay. I love you guys. I’m okay.”

 

“Oh, Stevie. Let’s sit down, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Bucky led him over to the only empty seat left, which was a pretty sizeable chair, but it wasn’t sizeable enough for two super soldiers. But Bucky wasn’t deterred. He sat down and pulled Steve with him, so that Steve was basically mostly on top of him. But, hey, Steve didn’t mind if Bucky didn’t mind. He tucked his face into Bucky’s chest and closed his eyes, blocking out the light if not the noise. Bucky kissed the top of Steve’s head as if they’d been doing this for years.

 

Steve heard Natasha sit down between Scott and Tony. And everyone was here. And Steve couldn’t fight anymore. He just—couldn’t. So, he continued to pray nobody noticed when he cried a little bit on Bucky’s shirt. Bucky’s shirt was already kind of wet anyway.

 

“Hey, fellas, Kit-Kat made a valiant attempt at cooking, and dinner’s ready,” Sam announced a little while later. “Although, you should blame his royal majesty for any food poisoning that comes out of this. Not me.”

 

Steve opened his eyes to see T’Challa whack Sam on the chest, trying to scowl to smother a smile. He wasn’t very successful.

 

“Hungry?” Bucky asked quietly.

 

“Okay.”

 

Steve sat down at the table in between Bucky and Natasha, and thank god it was a round table so that it had no social pressures or anything. Maybe T’Challa was a modern King Arthur. That was ridiculous thought. Steve needed to stop thinking.

 

Everyone was around the table and just as loud as the Avengers had always been, and the artificial lighting in here was still too bright for his liking, and Steve knew very well that it was bad, but he started picking at the skin of his forearm and couldn’t stop because apparently he was even more fucked up than he’d been before. He stared at his plate as the conversation turned to the sound of rushing in his ears.

 

“Hey, you know what I think would be fun, guys? Eating in the dark. Like, with the lights off,” Tony said really loudly, totally out of the blue. Steve looked up at him sharply.

 

Sam was raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “What are you talking about, man?”

 

Tony looked at Steve in panic, clearly asking for help, but Steve was frozen in place. He didn’t know what the fuck to do. Finally, Tony let out a stressed breath and said, “Steve spent forty-four days in solitary confinement with no light and no sound.”

 

Everyone turned to look at Steve so quickly that Steve flinched. He shoved both his hands under his thighs. “ _What?_ ” Wanda hissed.

 

“The cell was apparently soundproof and had the ability to block out pretty much all light,” Tony explained. “General Ross used the excuse of protecting him from the other prisoners, but that was obviously bullshit.”

 

“Especially ‘cause they put me back underground after you left again,” Steve muttered under his breath, hoping that no one heard, but Bucky made a growling noise at the words. Steve glanced at him. “Relax. It’s the only way T’Challa could’ve successfully gotten me out, probably.”

 

The table was eerily silent until Scott stood up and turned off the kitchen light. “Well. Now there’s no way _I_ can use prison to explain why I’m badass,” Scott said. Steve huffed a laugh and felt his anxiety level off a little bit, and he finally turned to his food.

 

Tony’s phone beeped in the vaguely tense silence, and everyone looked at him. Tony frowned as he picked up the device, and then his eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “What the fuck?” he muttered.

 

He passed the phone to T’Challa, who happened to be the closest to him. T’Challa didn’t look surprised at all. “Oh. It says they’ve executed Captain America via lethal injection.”

 

Everyone shot a look at Steve, who was decidedly alive.

 

“I maintain: what the fuck?”

 

T’Challa waved a dismissive hand and returned to his watery rice. “Governmental institutions do this all the time. They bluff in order to avoid looking weak. Admitting that Steve somehow escaped while his sentencing hearing was happening is the definition of weakness, and the UN cannot afford to look weak in the slightest. So, they are simply praying that Steve is going to retire from crime fighting and never show himself again.”

 

The last thing Steve wanted to do was support institutional corruption, but... being assumed dead would be _really nice_ for him and Bucky. “I think I’m okay with Captain America being dead.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and grumbled, quietly enough that only Steve could hear, “You’re way too okay with being dead at all.” Steve ignored him.

 

“You’re actually retiring?” Sam demanded. “For real?” He was hiding badly concealed excitement.

 

“I literally don’t think I can go on the way I have been,” Steve said, looking down at his plate. T’Challa really was an awful cook.

 

Natasha reached over and gave his arm a supportive squeeze. “Who’s going to lead us now, though?” Wanda asked.

 

The table fell into silence again, and everyone was still looking at Steve expectantly. Like he had any right to decide anymore. He squared his shoulders. “Sammy?”

 

Sam startled. “Yeah?”

 

“You think you could be Captain America?”

 

Sam’s jaw dropped in surprise, and he glanced around the table, but everyone was nodding because it definitely made complete sense. Sam was a natural leader too. He’d just followed Steve in. “Like,” Sam sputtered, “shield and all?”

 

“I’ve still got it,” Tony said awkwardly. “If you want it. It’s a possibility.”

 

“You will have to change your name to Eagle,” T’Challa said, nudging Sam with a teasing, bright smile.

 

“Shit,” Sam said.

 

“Aw, Steve, no,” Clint groaned. “Now I’ll never be the most iconic bird on the team again.”

 

Steve laughed, and Wanda punched Clint in the arm.

 

“Are you, like, really for real? You like. Legit. Want me. To be Captain America?” Sam stuttered, his voice rising by two octaves as he spoke.

 

“Yes?”

 

Sam clambered to his feet. “Can I hug you?”

 

“Of course.”

 

The hug was pretty much exactly what Steve needed, and Steve and Sam essentially melted into the embrace, and Steve had missed him _so much_ while he was in prison. Who’d he been kidding? Why had he been telling himself that Sam would get over his death easily? He wouldn’t. He absolutely would not.

 

They finally released each other, and Sam made his way back to his seat, looking exceedingly emotional. T’Challa reached over and rubbed his back.

 

“You guys will visit us, right?” Steve blurted out. “Here?”

 

Natasha gave him a weird look. “Duh.”

 

“Please don’t come over unannounced, though,” Bucky said, scowling at everyone. They’d all come such a long way that no one even pretended to be intimidated by the look.

 

“Well, obviously,” Natasha said. “Now that there’s the possibility on walking in on you two doing the dirty, we’ll _have_ to announce ourselves.”

 

“Ew,” Wanda said.

 

“I’m with Wanda. They’re grandpas,” Tony said, his face screwing up.

 

“Dude, they’ve gone over seventy years without getting any,” Clint said. “Let them live.”

 

“Let them live,” Scott started chanting. “Let them live. Let them live. Let them live.”

 

“Please,” Sam scoffed. “You just think they’re both really hot. Don’t pretend to be noble, you two.”

 

Scott held up both hands. “Fine. Guilty.”

 

Clint said, “I’ll have you know, I am super duper heterosexual and don’t think they’re hot at all.”

 

Natasha snorted.

 

Steve’s face was on fire, and Bucky wasn’t doing much better. “Hide me.”

 

“I’ll hide first,” Bucky muttered, ducking down to sit with his legs crossed under the table. Everyone laughed. Bucky reached up and grabbed Steve’s wrist, tugging, and Steve joined him half-under the table.

 

“Don’t do anything naughty while we’re in the room,” Natasha said, poking her head down.

 

“Oh my god,” Steve said, covering his face with his hands. Bucky tugged one hand away and pressed a kiss to the pulse point on Steve’s wrist. Steve felt his entire demeanor soften.

 

“Please stop sitting under the table,” Clint said after a few minutes. “We’re done. We promise.”

 

“For now,” Sam said with a dark smirk that Steve pretended to ignore as he reluctantly returned to his chair.

 

Bucky leveled them with a serious look. “Talk smack and you’re gonna get rehkt.”

 

Clint fell off his chair from laughing too hard. “I taught him that!” he gasped. “I taught him that meme!”

 

“I bet you taught him every single meme he knows,” Scott said.

 

“No,” Wanda piped in. “I taught him some.”

 

“ _I_ taught Steve about memes,” Tony said, looking strangely proud.

 

“Because learning about memes is definitely the only thing you need to know when acclimating to seventy years of lost pop culture,” Sam deadpanned.

 

Bucky shrugged. “They’ve served me pretty well.”

 

Sam frowned. “Are you just saying that because you feel the need to try to prove me wrong in anything I do?”

 

Bucky took a very nonchalant sip from his water, looking at Sam with blank innocence. “Why would I do that?”

 

Sam groaned.

 

Steve felt himself start to calm down even more as dinner went on, and then everyone was finished eating, but nobody had moved to get up.

 

Clint yawned.

 

“Are you guys staying here tonight?” Steve asked.

 

“Can we?” Scott asked, eyes going comically hopeful.

 

“We have one spare bedroom, two couches and two chairs in here, and floors. Some of you will have to cuddle up if you stay,” Bucky said.

 

“I’m down for that,” Sam said with a shrug. “T’Challa and I get the guest bedroom since he paid for the house.”

 

Tony squawked in offense. “That’s not fair.”

 

“You can’t speak to royalty that way,” T’Challa said sternly, but he was smirking a little bit.

 

“Clint and I call the couch,” Natasha said.

 

“I call the other couch,” Wanda said.

 

“So Scott and I have to sleep in chairs,” Tony said incredulously.

 

“They are comfortable chairs,” T’Challa informed him, completely unapologetic.

 

“Eh. I’ve slept in worse,” Scott said with a shrug.

 

Everyone helped clean up dinner, and it was all so domestic that Steve didn’t really know what to do with himself. Was he about to embark upon a whole life of feeling this way? He hoped not.

 

And then Clint was complaining about the cottage’s lack of blankets, and Natasha jokingly threw herself on top of him to declare that she would be his blanket, and Steve was laughing softly, and Bucky put his hand on Steve’s back, and everything was good. Maybe he _could_ live like this.

 

An hour later, and everybody had settled into their sleeping arrangements for the night with only minor grumbling from Tony. Steve and Bucky headed to the bedroom that they’d gone through to get to the bathroom.

 

Steve looked around. It was obviously meant for them.

 

There were sketchbooks in the bookcase right alongside all the science fiction novels that Bucky could ever dream of. The window had a perfect view of the dirt road in the distance so that they’d be able to see anybody coming their way, but there were also blackout curtains. The bed was obviously expensive, but it wasn’t very soft or mushy, which Steve appreciated. There was a corkboard on one wall, and Bucky had apparently hung up the notes that he’d taped to the wall in his room in T’Challa’s palace.

 

Bucky took off his jeans so that he was wearing boxers and a T-shirt, but by some unspoken agreement, neither of them undressed any further as they climbed into the bed.

 

They faced each other like a pair of parenthesis. And Steve let the confusion and exhaustion form the day show on his face. Bucky reached out and rubbed his thumb across the furrow in Steve’s brow.

 

“I thought you didn’t like men,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky smiled. “Not all of us could be as blatantly queer as you, Stevie.”

 

Steve blinked. “Why did you never tell me, though?”

 

“You know why,” Bucky whispered. “It would’ve led to _that_ discussion.”

 

“The you-and-me discussion.”

 

Bucky nodded.

 

“Well. It’s always been a dangerous subject, but we’ve always run straight into danger.”

 

“Run gay into danger.”

 

Steve swatted at Bucky halfheartedly. “What are you, twelve?”

 

“One-hundred.”

 

Steve smiled and leaned forward to press their lips together for a minute. “This is startlingly easy,” he noted when they pulled away.

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect, doll? We’ve been everything to each other since the 30s. Kissing ain’t gonna change much.”

 

Steve hummed. “That’s what I hoped. I thought it was weird to think of it like that.”

 

“No. We’re too tangled up in each other as it is for much to really change us. This is just gonna be another way to show we love each other.”

 

“Good.”

 

Steve kissed Bucky again, and it was slow and so breathtakingly easy that Steve got lost in it. He was so relieved and happy they’d gotten this far. And he was abruptly really fucking glad that he was alive.

 

Bucky was clinging to him a little bit when he murmured, “No more dying on me, okay? Not until I say so.”

 

Steve sighed. “If you don’t leave again.”

 

“Deal.”

 

And that’s how Steve knew Bucky was serious. Bucky wasn’t going to leave again. Death and torture and brainwashing and ice and guilt and laws and nations had tried and tried to pry them away from each other, but it was all temporary. Nothing stood a chance against them.

 

“We’re gonna get better now. We’ll learn to live without a war. We’re gonna do it,” Bucky said confidently, pulling Steve into his chest. Steve sighed contentedly.

 

“That sounds nice,” he mumbled.

 

Bucky hummed. “Peace, right?”

 

“I’ve never had any sort of peace at all.”

 

“I know. I don’t think you ever will, either. But we’ll remove bloodshed from the equation. You wouldn’t be _you_ without your anger.”

 

Steve frowned.

 

Bucky looked at him and sighed. “It means you’ve still got that passion in you, okay? Even if you can’t bring yourself to care about anything sometimes, you’ve still got the passion somewhere. If it manifests as anger, fine. It’s better than nothing.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

 

“We’ll work on that,” Bucky said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll work on it.”

 

(Steve didn’t sleep at all, and Bucky woke up in his forty-five minute intervals, and Steve kept accidentally elbowing Bucky while he was asleep, but it was the most comfortable Steve had ever been in his life, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony was the only other person awake when Steve padded silently into the kitchen. They nodded at each other.

 

 _Couldn’t sleep?_ Steve signed.

 

Tony shook his head. _I am the life of the party_.

 

Steve rolled his eyes.

 

 _Was it too loud for you?_ Tony signed after a moment.

 

Steve nodded. _Loud. Bright._

 

They sat in silence, staring glumly at the table. Steve knew Tony still didn’t trust him. Maybe he’d never trust Steve again. But, fuck, this was so much better than how they’d been a few months ago. At least they had each other’s backs again.

 

Natasha and Clint woke up next, followed very shortly by Bucky. They all sat at the table quietly. Bucky took out a sharpie and passed it to Steve before extending his arm. Steve kind of wanted to cry as he took the pen and started to shakily doodle.

 

Sam and T’Challa emerged from the guest bedroom, looking groggy and slightly disheveled. Steve raised an eyebrow at Sam, and Sam grinned, but he was distracted by his silent conversation with Steve and tripped over a chair, which clattered to the ground loudly.

 

Wanda sat bolt upright, raising her hands threateningly. When she registered it was just them, she slowly put her hands down. Scott barely even stirred, so they decided it was safe to speak out loud.

 

It was good. It was all very, very good.

 

Clint drew a mustache and a monocle on Scott’s face before he woke up, and Scott never noticed anything was wrong. Which was probably indicative of something since everyone kept snickering every time they saw him.

 

Before they had to go, T’Challa pulled Steve and Bucky aside. “I have screened many therapists for the two of you and have chosen only the two that I trust the most. I have contacted them both with your respective information. They will call you. You will set up appointments.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky said with a nonchalant shrug.

 

Steve swallowed roughly. “Fine.”

 

“Good,” T’Challa said, patting them both on the back.

 

Tony, T’Challa, Clint, Scott, and Wanda left at the same time with hasty goodbyes and promises to visit soon. Sam and Natasha stayed behind to help them settle in, or whatever, even though Steve knew they just wanted to keep an eye on them to make sure they wouldn’t snap so quickly.

 

But for once, Steve felt really, truly fine.

 

* * *

 

 

Until the restlessness started to seep into his bones again.

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Steve gritted out, flexing his fingers, itching to hit something.

 

“Paint,” Natasha said.

 

“Do we even have—“

 

“In the studio,” Bucky answered before Steve could finish his question.

 

“We have a studio?”

 

“Jesus Christ, how have you survived this long?” Bucky muttered to himself. “Yes.”

 

Steve found the door to the studio tucked into a corner that he hadn’t noticed. The room was small, but it had great lighting (even though lights still made Steve pretty twitchy), drawing tables, easels, and various arts supplies.

 

Steve opened the first can of paint he found, which happened to be red. How fitting.

 

He grabbed a thick brush and a canvas, propping it up on the easel closest to the window.

 

He hadn’t painted in forever.

 

Steve decided not to think about this as he dipped the brush into the paint and made a harsh, big slash of red down the middle of the canvas.

 

Paint was already splattered on his clothes.

 

Huh. Painting.

 

Steve made wide, messy arcs of the brush, and it was all the same color, but Steve couldn’t care because his entire life had been red up until now, so what was the point?

 

Although. Maybe different shades of red would be even more fitting.

 

Steve found the black paint and the white paint and started to mix them on a pallet.

 

Steve didn’t notice how long he’d been painting. It was shockingly easy to disappear into the zone if colors and design until everything else faded away.

 

“Stevie, you need to eat,” Bucky said softly, and Steve blinked a few times, coming back to himself. He took a step back. Yep. That was a lot of red. But at least there were some variations in shades. Bucky stepped up behind him, and Steve could feel the warmth of his body. He rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder. “That’s a lot of red.”

 

Steve gestured vaguely at the painting. “My life.”

 

“Ah.” Bucky turned his head and pressed his lips to the side of Steve’s neck, and Steve shivered a little bit, but Bucky pulled away after a moment, offering his hand. “C’mon. I made food.”

 

“You _cooked_?” Steve asked in faux shock.

 

Bucky scowled at him. “Stop being a jackass.”

 

“Love you too, Buck.”

 

Sam and Natasha were already sitting at the table, eating spaghetti. Sam laughed at him. “You’re covered in paint.”

 

“I know,” Steve said with a wry twist of his lips.

 

“Did it help?” Natasha demanded.

 

Steve took stock of himself and registered with dull surprise that he didn’t really feel like punching anything anymore. “Uh. Yeah.”

 

“I fucking _told_ you so.”

 

Steve sat down and twirled some spaghetti. “Well. Now I’m listening.”

 

“Look at you!” Sam cooed, looking outrageously delighted. “Moving away from unhealthy coping mechanisms! I’m so proud of you, Sour Punch.”

 

“I’ll Sour Punch your face,” Steve grumbled under his breath, and Sam laughed again.

 

“I just realized both our candy nicknames are Sour things,” Bucky said.

 

Sam shot Bucky a glare, which didn’t have nearly as much venom as it used to. “That’s because I didn’t put enough effort in your name to make it original.”

 

“You literally took the time to make sure the candy’s slogan matched with my personality,” Bucky pointed out.

 

“No. It was a coincidence.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Pass the pepper.”

 

Sam grabbed the pepper and dumped all the contents onto his spaghetti. “Sorry, we just ran out.”

 

“Ew,” Natasha said, wrinkling her nose at the mountain of pepper in horror.

 

Bucky just blinked tiredly like he didn’t expect anything less. He reached out and grabbed a pinch of pepper from Sam’s pile to sprinkle on top of his spaghetti.

 

Sam stared at the pepper. “I didn’t think this through.”

 

Steve laughed.

 

“Wait,” Natasha blurted out, looking up with narrowed eyes. “Why don’t I have a candy-themed nickname?”

 

Bucky snorted, and Steve laughed harder, and Sam grinned so widely that Steve was nearly blinded with it. “Aw, Nat, I’d never leave you out. You’re Strawberry Shortcake.”

 

“What.”

 

“Mmmmhm. Don’t deny it, girl.”

 

Natasha pretended to be annoyed with the nickname, but she was secretly pleased.

 

Steve sighed contentedly and ate his spaghetti.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve absentmindedly opened his Google app and typed in “captain america.”

 

The first result was the article about Steve being executed. The second was about the sentencing hearing. Steve didn’t both to even look at either of those.

 

Apparently, the public had mixed opinions on Captain America’s execution. Some labeled it the murder of justice and America-as-we-knew-it. Some insisted that not even Captain America was exempt from this sort of justice and that Americans needed to get over themselves.

 

Steve read through an article about why the Death of Captain America was parallel to the Death of America, and then he read an article about Why People Are Thankful For The Prevalence Of International Justice. And then he read more articles about Why Cap’s Death is Warranted. And then Sam reached over and turned off his phone for him.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam left the next day because apparently Tony had secretly designed him a cool Captain America suit. “I’m gonna send y’all a gazillion selfies.”

 

“Visit soon,” Steve said. “Please.”

 

“Anything for you, man,” Sam responded, grabbing Steve for a tight hug. “Nothing for you, though,” he added, nodding at Bucky.

 

Bucky scowled and shoved his hand into his pocket.

 

“Text me when you land, okay?”

 

“Of course, buddy.” He clapped Steve on the back one last time and gave Bucky the _I’m watching you_ gesture. And then he was gone.

 

And it was just them and Natasha.

 

“Who’s watching Liho?” Bucky asked later in the day, after Steve was mostly done moping about Sam’s absence.

 

“A lady in my apartment building,” Natasha said.

 

“Cool.” Bucky shifted position so that he was lying on the couch with his head in Steve’s laugh. “Put on a TV show that’ll help us understand pop culture or something.”

 

Natasha frowned and pulled up Law and Order on Netflix. Steve gave her an unimpressed look. “What? The bad acting is funny and the meanings are relevant.”

 

“I haven’t seen this one,” Bucky said as Steve started running his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

 

“This episode?”

 

“No. The show in general.”

 

“A crime, Barnes. Truly, a crime.”

 

They ended up watching two and a half seasons with breaks only for meals.

 

And now, every single time someone said something that could be interpreted as vaguely ominous, Bucky would mutter, “Dun-dun,” under his breath. Steve refused to admit that he thought it was adorable, but his half-assed protests probably said it loud and clear.

 

“There’s no more leftovers,” Natasha announced as she dug through the fridge.

 

“Dun-dun.”

 

“We’ll have to go to the grocery store.”

 

“Dun-dun.”

 

Steve whirled on Bucky, trying to look genuinely irritated. “If you don’t stop that, I’m revoking kissing privileges.”

 

Bucky gave a soft, theatrical gasp. “ _Dun-dun_.”

 

Steve glared at him, and Bucky took a step closer to press a small, soft kiss to his lips. Steve huffed in feigned annoyance, and Bucky grinned at him.

 

“You guys are gross,” Natasha informed them. “Also. We’re going to buy food.”

 

“We don’t have a source of income,” Steve said.

 

“Dun-dun.”

 

Natasha fished out a credit card from a seemingly random drawer. “T’Challa said to show this to you after he was long-gone.”

 

Steve frowned. “He left us with money?”

 

“Yeah. And a lot of it.”

 

Steve and Bucky exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

 

“Come on, frugal grandpas, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

 

Bucky sighed in resignation and reluctantly took the card.

 

“Do I have to go?” Steve asked.

 

“Yes. The sooner we get you acclimated to light and noise, the better.”

 

“Great.”

 

“I’ll be there,” Bucky promised. “Even though I hate noise too.”

 

Steve kissed him. “I love you.”

 

“Stoooooooooop,” Natasha groaned, clapping her hands over her eyes. “Let’s get a move on, fellas. We don’t have another seventy years, probably.”

 

“Dun-dun.”

 

“Oh, for crying out loud—“

 

* * *

 

 

When Natasha finally decided she had outstayed her welcome, Steve was better around light, but loud noises still made him jumpy. They were working on it, though.

 

IE: Steve slept in the closet with noise-cancelling headphones when it became too much.

 

(Steve suspected Tony had left the noise-cancelling headphones here, but he’d never ever ask him that.)

 

Steve got a call from an unknown number and almost threw the phone before Bucky grabbed his arm to stop him. “Answer it.”

 

Steve let out a breath. “Right. Sorry.”

 

He picked up with slightly unsteady fingers. “Hello?”

 

“Hello. Am I speaking to Steve Barnes?”

 

Steve blinked. “Um. Yes. That’d be me,” he stammered out, sending Bucky a wide-eyed look. Bucky shrugged.

 

“Good afternoon, Steve. My name is Charles Xavier, and I’m a psychologist. I believe King T’Challa spoke with you about me?”

 

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed, and Bucky reached over and fixed Steve’s hair. “Right, yeah. Yes. Hello.”

 

“Hello,” Xavier said, sounding kind of amused. “His majesty informed me that you might be adverse to consulting a psychologist.”

 

Steve cleared his throat, wincing. “No, no, I want to, uh, get better. I’m just. Not great at it.”

 

Bucky kissed Steve on the cheek, and Steve pretended to swat him away. “I understand. That is most certainly something we can work on.”

 

Steve nodded a few times. “So, what do we do from here?” he asked in a small voice.

 

“Well, this is rather an unusual case for me, and I’ve been ferried off to Wakanda, so we should certainly have sessions in person. Until we’ve made considerable improvement, we should continue to operate in this manner. Then, I’ll go back to New York, and we can communicate via technology.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said. That sounded. Very logical. There was nothing to really argue with. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“When do you want to start?”

 

“I don’t really have anything on my schedule, so it doesn’t really matter.”

 

Xavier hummed on the other end. “Alright, well. I can visit you in two days at sixteen-hundred hours?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I’ll see you then, Mr. Barnes.” Xavier hung up.

 

Steve shuddered. “That was weird.”

 

Bucky swung himself over so that he was facing Steve. “You’re doing great.”

 

“You’re the one who got tortured for seventy years. Why does my hand need to get held?” Steve muttered bitterly.

 

Bucky frowned. “We have different issues, Steve. My hand needs to get held through different shit.”

 

“Sorry. You’re right,” Steve sighed, dropping his head down. Bucky kissed the back of his neck.

 

“I think we’re doing okay so far,” Bucky mused. “Neither of us have snapped yet.”

 

“It’s literally been two weeks.”

 

“We should celebrate.”

 

“Two weeks, Buck.”

 

“Celebration.”

 

Steve picked his head up and Bucky leaned in to kiss him properly. Steve was still kind of shocked by how easy it felt. Why hadn’t they started doing this sooner? Kissing was great.

 

They ended up necking for such a long time that they had to stop when Bucky’s stomach growled. They pulled away from each other, breathing heavily. “Hungry?” Steve asked, and his voice was startlingly low and rough.

 

Bucky hummed. “Yeah,” he said, pupils blown.

 

“I’ll make you an omelet?”

 

Bucky laughed and clambered off of Steve’s lap. “Okay.”

 

Steve snagged Bucky’s arm and pressed a kiss to the doodled heart on his pulse point. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too. Now get cookin’, любимая.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky’s psychologist called the next day. His name was Andrew Garner, and he apparently used to work with Shield. But T’Challa assured them that he could be trusted, and they felt a little bit better about the whole thing.

 

Steve somehow managed to sleep half the night with Bucky’s interval system. That shit _worked_.

 

And then it was the day that Dr. Xavier was supposed to arrive.

 

Steve had looked him up because he was a functioning adult who knew how to use the Internet, and apparently, the guy was a literal genius. He’d graduated from Harvard at, like, sixteen. When _Steve_ was sixteen, the craziest thing he’d done had been kissing a boy for the first time. Not exactly comparable.

 

Steve wondered what the fuck Xavier was doing coming to Wakanda to talk to Steve. Then, he remembered that a literal king had probably asked him very nicely with a lot of money.

 

“You’re nervous,” Bucky said. It wasn’t a question.

 

“Yeah,” Steve admitted because it was Bucky, and he literally couldn’t keep anything a secret from Bucky for very long.

 

Bucky handed Steve a sharpie. “Draw.”

 

“Okay.”

 

When Steve had completely covered Bucky’s arm in doodles, Bucky sat back and stripped off his shirt, so Steve got to draw all over Bucky’s torso, which was great. He also got access to Bucky’s chest, which Steve discovered was an excellent place to give your best guy a hickey and then cover it up with a doodle of a black hole.

 

Bucky nudged Steve ten minutes before Xavier was supposed to show up. “I should put my shirt back on.”

 

“You should never wear a shirt again,” Steve said in the same tone, dropping a kiss onto Bucky’s collarbone.

 

Bucky snorted and dryly said, “We can discuss that after the psychologist leaves.”

 

Steve pouted exaggeratedly but allowed Bucky to put his shirt back on, successfully covering most of Steve’s work. At least his arm was still mostly visible. Steve kind of liked seeing his doodles on Bucky’s skin.

 

Bucky straightened and looked out the window. Steve forced himself not to follow Bucky’s gaze.

 

There was a knock at the door. Steve expected it, but he still flinched.

 

Bucky stood a little bit behind him when he opened the door. “Dr. Xavier?”

 

The man smiled placidly at Steve. “Mr. Barnes?”

 

“Uh. Yes.”

 

Steve had known from his research that Xavier was paraplegic, but he hadn’t really thought about what that would mean in the real world until now. Steve opened the door wide so that Xavier could fit his wheelchair through the doorway.

 

“Hi, I’m Charles Xavier,” he was saying to Bucky.

 

“Bucky,” Bucky said, eloquent and charming as ever.

 

Xavier glanced back at Steve, and Steve thought he saw a flash of recognition. He tensed in preparation, but Xavier said nothing. “Do you want something to eat or drink?” Steve finally asked, remembering his manners.

 

“I’m afraid I had a snack before I left, but thank you for the offer,” Xavier said. He was maybe the most polite person Steve had met in this century. He kind of liked him.

 

Steve nodded awkwardly. “Um. Then. I don’t know. Do you want to do this in the studio? I think there’s a chair in there.”

 

“Wherever you’re comfortable.”

 

“Alright. Follow me, then, please.”

 

Bucky squeezed Steve’s arm as he passed. “I’ll be right out here if you need me.”

 

Steve paused to kiss the side of Bucky’s head. Xavier didn’t say anything until they reached the studio.

 

“You know,” he began conversationally, “I have a confidentiality agreement with all my clients, which is something that I take very seriously.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve said awkwardly, not sure what else to say.

 

Xavier leveled Steve with a look. “I’m not going to tell anyone who you are.”

 

“Oh,” Steve said. He supposed he should’ve expected this.

 

Xavier seemed to sense his discomfort. “Why don’t we get started?”

 

“Right.” Steve sat down on the lone chair in the room.

 

“So, my goal here is to diagnose and treat any mental illness you may have,” Xavier said, right to business. “I can prescribe medication, but I very much doubt that it would have a great effect on you, so we should probably stick to old-school methods.”

 

Steve cracked a smile, and even if it was self-deprecating, it was something.

 

“You don’t have to tell me anything about your headspace today. We can just take this session to get to know each other and build up some trust so that you’ll be more comfortable talking to me.”

 

Steve relaxed a little bit. “Alright. I can do that.”

 

Xavier smiled. “Excellent.” He pressed his fingers together. “Now, let’s get serious... What is your favorite type of dog?”

 

* * *

 

 

An hour and a half later, Steve emerged from the studio feeling odd but somehow like he’d done something good.

 

Bucky was watching him anxiously as he and Charles (“We’re both grown men; you don’t have to treat me like your school principal—call me Charles, please.”) came into the living room.

 

“I’ll come back the day after tomorrow. Same time?”

 

“Sure,” Steve said.

 

“It was wonderful meeting you, Bucky, Steve.” Charles nodded at them. Steve opened the door for Charles, and he smiled at him. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

“See you soon,” Steve echoed, and then Charles was gone.

“How was it?” Bucky asked, on his feet and inches from Steve in an instant. “How are you feeling?”

 

Steve smiled at Bucky tiredly and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It was fine. We didn’t even do anything hard. Just got to know each other a little bit.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said, surprised.

 

“I don’t know if that’s a normal psychologist thing. Maybe I’m just unstable.”

 

“Pal, we’re both pretty unstable.”

 

Bucky tucked his face into Steve’s neck and took a few long, deep breaths. “Hey, I never asked about the deconditioning.”

 

Bucky shrugged, not moving. “I don’t remember much. There was surgery and some science thing that sounded made-up. And now I’m apparently not dangerous anymore. Beyond normal levels, anyway.”

 

Steve cradled the back of Bucky’s head with his hand. “Alright.”

 

Bucky started humming a song Steve vaguely recognized. After a moment, he put his hand on Steve’s waist and started swaying. Steve rolled his eyes fondly and swayed with him, letting his other hand rest on the small of Bucky’s back. Bucky made a disapproving noise. “Proper position,” he mumbled before returning to his humming.

 

“There is no such thing as a proper position because you don’t have an arm.”

 

Bucky lifted his head. “Aw, Steve. You could’ve _hand_ led that delivery better. Now my feelings are hurt.” He pouted.

 

Steve laughed softly and pressed a kiss to the pout. “You’re kind of adorable.”

 

Bucky forcibly moved Steve’s hands into the correct positioning, and Steve rolled his eyes as Bucky ignored him in favor of humming.

 

They were still kind of swaying in front of the door when Steve’s phone vibrated violently. Steve and Bucky both jerked in surprise. Steve fumbled with his phone and discovered that Sam was apparently Facetiming him.

 

“Oh, boy,” Bucky grumbled, scowling at the screen.

 

Steve shot him a smile before answering the call.

 

“STEVE!” Sam shouted over the line, and Steve and Bucky both winced away a little bit. “Hey! Hey, guys!”

 

“Hey, Sammy,” Steve said happily, dragging Bucky with him to sit down on the couch.

 

Sam turned his phone or iPad or whatever sideways, and suddenly the rest of the Secret Avengers (sans T’Challa) were squeezed into the screen.

 

“Guys!” Steve said, kind of delighted.

 

“We missed you two,” Wanda said.

 

“It’s not even been three weeks,” Bucky said.

 

“Still.”

 

“Was the group text not enough for you guys?” Steve asked bemusedly.

 

“No. We wanted to see your beautiful faces,” Clint said.

 

“And hear your beautiful voices. No offense, Clinty,” Scott added.

 

“None taken.”

 

“So, how is it? How’s retirement?” Sam asked.

 

“Great until you called,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

 

“ _Booooo_ ,” Wanda and Clint said in unison.

 

“It’s been okay,” Steve said, looking at Sam. “Weird. But okay.”

 

“Neither of us have snapped yet,” Bucky said with a smug smile.

 

“Excellent!” Scott shouted. “And guess what? Stark apparently hired classy lawyers to try and get us pardoned.”

 

“For real?” Steve said, floored.

 

“For real!”

 

Bucky laced their fingers together and gave Steve’s hand a squeeze. “Wow.”

 

“He loves us again,” Sam said triumphantly. “He gave me a Captain America suit.”

 

“He loves you again,” Steve confirmed.

 

“Aw, don’t be jealous, he loves you too, Steve,” Clint said.

 

Steve rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to respond to that. “Stevie just had his first therapy appointment,” Bucky piped up, the traitor.

 

“DUUUUUUUUUUDE!” Sam screeched as everyone else cheered. “I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!!” And Steve could actually hear the double exclamation points in his voice.

 

“Thanks,” Steve mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

“IT IS A HUGE DEAL!!”

 

“Ugh,” Steve said.

 

“UGH,” Scott and Wanda mocked in some sort of falsetto.

 

“I came out to have a good time and honestly I’m feeling so attacked right now,” Steve said.

 

Clint laughed so hard he disappeared from the frame, wheezing. Bucky even let out a little giggle next to him, and Steve literally couldn’t resist leaning over to kiss his temple.

 

“This is great,” Scott announced. “We should do this on a weekly basis.”

 

“Monday nights,” Sam said sternly. “It’s a thing now.”

 

Bucky groaned. “I hate you all.”

 

“You used to be scary. I wonder when that went away,” Wanda mused, grinning.

 

“I am a terror. I’m still scary, dammit.”

 

Everyone kind of laughed at him, Steve included. Bucky tried to scowl harder, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.

 

They talked for another twenty minutes before Sam accidentally hit a button and hung up on them. Steve waited for a call back but got a text instead.

 

SAM: Sorry bro mama kit-kat came back home and ruined our fun so we cant call back

 

BUCKY: :)

 

STEVE: Oh dear. Well have fun

 

SAM: Ttyl fellas

 

Steve sighed and dropped his head onto Bucky’s shoulder. “Tired, любимый?”

 

“Yes,” Steve sighed. “Also, what are you calling me? I bet you’re just saying asshole in as many different languages as you can.”

 

Bucky smirked. “Мудак. Idiotule. Arschloch. Estúpido. Connard. מְטוּמטָם—“

 

“Okay, I get the point,” Steve grumbled.

 

Bucky laughed softly. “I’m just using endearments. Get off my ass, old man.”

 

“I’ll get _on_ your ass.”

 

“Sexy,” Bucky teased. He nudged Steve gently. “Let’s go to bed.”

 

Steve nodded a few times. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“я люблю тебя.”

 

“Ugh,” Steve said. “Teach me Russian.”

 

“Sure,” Bucky whispered with this soft, lovely smile. “We’ve got time.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky was evidently shocked by how much he liked Andrew Garner for his no-nonsense approach to the whole thing, and Steve made a mental note to thank T’Challa for knowing them both well enough to handpick their psychologists.

 

It was going too well. Steve knew it would’ve had to go downhill eventually.

 

This time, it wasn’t the apathy that got to him. It was the anger again. Always the goddamn fucking anger.

 

But, at the very least, Steve was a self-aware ticking time bomb.

 

“Buck,” he said, and Bucky glanced over at him from where he’d been reading a book. “Do we have any punching bags here?”

 

Bucky shook his head slowly.

 

“Ah, fuck.” Steve flexed his fingers. He was trembling a little bit. God, he hated himself. He wanted to hit—

 

“Hey, wait, don’t have a meltdown,” Bucky whispered, putting his book down and standing to approach where Steve was hovering in the doorway. “What are your other ways to take anger out?”

 

“Painting,” Steve managed. “Running. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think they’re going to work.” He gritted his teeth. “Fuck. I either have no energy or too much. I’m fucking—Fuck, I hate myself, I—“

 

“Steve,” Bucky said, reaching out.

 

Only, that was probably not a great idea.

 

Steve grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and pushed him into the nearest wall, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to shock.

 

Steve blinked at himself and immediately released Bucky, stepping back. “Shit, sorry, I—I need to get out of here—I—“

 

“Wait,” Bucky said slowly, and he looked almost... curious? “Come back here. Wait.”

 

When Steve didn’t move, Bucky impatiently grabbed Steve’s wrist and yanked him closer.

 

“Do that again,” Bucky said, his voice low.

 

Steve frowned. “You liked that,” he deadpanned.

 

“Maybe a little.”

 

“I’m not safe right now, Buck.”

 

Bucky gave a huff of frustration. “Fine. Go for a run to burn off some energy, then come back and do it again.”

 

Steve blinked a few times. “I—okay.”

 

Steve ran a really distracted run, so he had no idea how much distance he covered. He just turned around when the prickling in his skin started to ease up a bit, and by the time the cottage came into view, he felt almost calm.

 

Well. Focused, may be the right word.

 

Steve walked inside and found Bucky reading in the bedroom. “Hey. How was your run?” he asked warily.

 

“Good,” Steve said, not stopping until he was perched over Bucky. He pecked a kiss to his lips. “Good.”

 

Bucky slowly put his book aside, and Steve stepped back to let him get to his feet.

 

And Steve grabbed Bucky’s shoulders again and pushed him into the nearest wall just as they came together for a bruising kiss.

 

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed when Steve broke away to graze his teeth along Bucky’s neck. “ _Fuck_.” Bucky hooked his foot around Steve’s ankle, and Steve lost his balance, and Bucky pinned him to the floor with an _oomph_.

 

This was decidedly good.

 

“Wait, wait,” Steve gasped. He twisted his body so that Bucky rolled underneath him. He sat up on his knees and pulled Bucky up. “Not on the floor.”

 

“Not _ever_?” Bucky demanded.

 

“No. Not for the _first time_.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Steve shoved Bucky onto their bed, and Bucky yanked Steve on top of him, and it was more wrestling than necking at this point, but Steve kind of loved it.

 

They were violent people, him and Bucky. They’d been hurt, and they’d hurt other people in turn. They didn’t know how to live without a war.

 

Bucky had never been careful with Steve though, and Steve had certainly never been careful with Bucky. The certainty in how they moved, the sense of complete belonging, was so liberating that Steve knew he would never ever tire of it.

 

Steve pulled back right before things escalated. “Hey, Buck.”

 

“Hey,” Bucky said, his voice kind of wrecked.

 

“I love you. Also. I bet you look like a dork during sex.”

 

Bucky squawked, offended. “Fuck you, I look like an angel.”

 

“Hmm, we should test these theories.”

 

“Do me for science, Rogers,” Bucky laughed.

 

“I’ll do you for science, and maybe a little bit just for us.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Gee, don’t get all sappy on me.”

 

“You’re the sap.”

 

“I’m pretty sure sap is your middle name. Steven Sap Rogers. Hey, if we gave you another first name that started with a U, your initials would spell out—“ Bucky gasped and quickly cut himself off, glaring down at Steve. “Did you just stick a finger in my asshole to win an argument?”

 

Steve kissed him. “Did you honestly expect anything less of me?”

 

Bucky shifted his hips. “Point taken. Keep going.”

 

“Wait,” Steve said after a minute. “I have an idea.”

 

Bucky groaned, throwing his elbow over his face. “Why do I have a feeling that this is going to be terrible?”

 

“Tell me if it’s bad,” Steve said and ducked down under the covers to attempt to replace his fingers with his tongue.

 

Bucky hissed and arched his back. “Fuck. What the—fuck, holy shit. I stand—corrected—fuck.”

 

After a few minutes, Steve’s head popped out of the covers smugly. “Told you so.”

 

“Stop taking your damn time and hurry the fuck up,” Bucky snapped.

 

Steve traced a hand slowly across Bucky’s chest. “Nah, I was thinking I’d take all night.”

 

“I will jerk off by myself. Do not test me.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes but resumed his previous task.

 

Later, Bucky complained about the mess and Steve told him to worry about it in the morning, but Bucky wouldn’t shut up and made him get out of bed so that he could go do an emergency load of laundry.

 

Steve tried to be grouchy about it, but he was in a great mood. He ate a cookie while Bucky cleaned. _Sucks to be you, Bucky_.

 

But then Bucky took half of his cookie while they waited for the washing machine to do its thing.

 

“That was weird,” Bucky said, chewing thoughtfully.

 

“Doing it with a guy?” Steve asked dryly.

 

“Yeah. But I also really, really liked it.”

 

“Great.”

 

“We should do it again sometime.”

 

Steve laughed, a little bit too loudly for the hour, but who cared anymore? “Sure thing, doll.”

 

Bucky smiled at him. “Fuck, I love you.”

 

“That’s gay,” Steve said.

 

Bucky punched him in the bicep, hard, and then went to transfer the sheets to the dryer.

 

“Well,” Bucky said as they made their bed with military-tight corners. “I guess we found another way to take out some of your anger.”

 

Steve glared at him. “I’m not gonna fuck you when I’m angry.”

 

“I’m just saying. It’s an easy option to release some energy.”

 

“Bucky?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

Bucky lifted a shoulder and climbed into his side of the bed. “Just saying.”

 

Steve sighed. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

 

“You won’t. I’m a super soldier too, pal.”

 

Steve didn’t say anything. Bucky let out a breath and rolled over so that his head was pillowed on Steve’s collarbone.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky whispered after a moment.

 

“Don’t be. I’ll think about it.”

 

“Alright.”

 

They both slept all of their intervals. So in spite of the breaks in between, they got almost nine hours of sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes Bucky woke up and couldn’t remember how to speak English.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes Steve still caught himself picking at his skin.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes Bucky tried to hit Steve if he accidentally walked up behind him too quietly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes Steve couldn’t get out of bed for _days_.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes Bucky color-coded the contents of the kitchen cabinet so obsessively that he’d be stuck there for hours and hours.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t fucking easy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t fucking impossible either.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve and Bucky were pretty much cuddling on the couch while a movie played in the background when Steve said, “Hey. I have Major Depression and PTSD.”

 

Bucky turned to look at him, and his expression was soft and possibly the loveliest thing Steve had ever seen. “Hey. I have PTSD, OCD, and Situational Anxiety.”

 

Steve pressed their foreheads together, letting out a breath. “We’re a pair.”

 

“Pal, we’ve always been a pair.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you hear a noise?” Bucky grumbled into the back of Steve’s neck.

 

“You, talking, during our precious forty-five minutes of sleep.”

 

“I hear something.”

 

“Please don’t get up,” Steve said into the pillow. Bucky stood up. “Buuuuuuuuuck.”

 

“Steve. I _heard_ something.”

 

Steve groaned and reluctantly heaved to his feet.

 

Bucky grabbed his gun from under the pillow, and Steve followed him as he stepped outside.

 

Huh. There was definitely something out there.

 

Bucky raised his gun.

 

And a dog trotted into view.

 

Bucky dropped the gun immediately.

 

“Aw,” Steve cooed, dropping to a crouch. The dog meandered over to him. Steve scratched his head. “Aren’t you cute?”

 

“Steve, that dog could be rabid.”

 

“Naw, he just wants some attention, don’t you?” The dog booped Steve with his nose. Steve took that as a yes and started petting him with both hands.

 

Bucky sighed and sat down next to Steve. He reached out his hand and tentatively rubbed the dog’s snout. The dog leaned into the touch.

 

“I killed a dog, once,” Bucky said quietly. “It was a quick death, though.”

 

Steve winced. “Was that a turn-off from dogs forever?”

 

“I assumed so, but I haven’t really been around many dogs since then,” Bucky admitted. He smiled slightly. “But maybe not.”

 

“This dog probably belongs to someone anyway,” Steve said.

 

“Yeah. He’s got tags,” Bucky noted. “Let’s bring him inside and give the owners a call.”

 

Once inside, Steve inspected the dog’s tags. “Buck, his name is Devil. Isn’t that cute? Aren’t you a cute little Devil?”

 

Bucky scoffed. “Only you, Stevie.” He leaned over to read the number on the tags and tapped it into his phone. “I’m sending them a text in Wakandan. How does this sound? ‘We found your dog. Please advise how to proceed.’”

 

“Kind of technical,” Steve noted. “But I like it.”

 

Bucky nodded and sent the message. Devil preened over the attention he was getting from Steve. Bucky’s phone buzzed.

 

“What did they say?”

 

Bucky winced, and Steve felt his heart sink. “Um. ‘We want no part of that Devil Dog.’”

 

Steve pursed his lips. “Ah.”

 

“So this guy has no place to go.”

 

“I guess not.”

 

Bucky paused for a moment, watching Devil nudge Steve for more attention. “Alright, fine.”

 

Steve smiled. “You wanna adopt a dog with me?”

 

Bucky scowled. “I’m only doing this for you.”

 

“You’re cute when you’re bullshitting.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Devil whined half-heartedly, and they both returned to petting him.

 

“This is great,” Steve said. “We’re gonna have so many adventures. Man, wait ‘til I tell Nat. Devil and Liho are gonna go on adventures together.”

 

“Lucky will feel left out.”

 

“Lucky can come too.”

 

“You forgot about Lucky.”

 

“Neither of us have ever met Lucky.”

 

“We get pictures of Lucky every five minutes. We’ve _basically_ met Lucky.”

 

Steve shook his head. “It’s not the same, Buck.”

 

They kind of fumbled with what to do next. Steve came up with the genius idea of filling a bowl with water and placing it on the floor while Bucky put some leftover beef into a bowl and grumbled about how it was probably bad for dogs.

 

“We’ll run out and get him actual stuff tomorrow,” Steve reassured Bucky as he fidgeted uncomfortably. Bucky kind of freaked out if something deviated from his kitchen System.

 

He blew out a stressed breath. “Alright.”

 

“This is only for tonight. We’ll go first thing in the morning.”

 

Bucky turned and pressed his forehead into Steve’s shoulder. “Okay.”

 

Steve pulled out his phone as Devil curiously followed them into the bedroom and pulled up Charles’ number because apparently he was the kind of person to text his psychologist any time something of note happened.

 

STEVE: I think we’re adopting a dog??

 

CHARLES: Ok. Have you thought it through?

 

STEVE: No??

 

CHARLES: Well, you can always change your minds, then.

 

STEVE: His name is devil

 

CHARLES: That is an odd name for a dog.

 

STEVE: [Attached image]

 

CHARLES: That dog is large.

 

STEVE: And you get to see him tomorrow. Hah

 

CHARLES: Good night, Steve.

 

STEVE: Night

 

Bucky peeked over at his texts. “Chuck approves?”

 

“Chuck sounds very carefully neutral.”

 

“Well, that’s something.”

 

Devil sat on the floor near Steve and looked at them expectantly. Steve reached a hand out and scratched him on the head.

 

“Do you think he wants to sleep on the bed?” Bucky asked, tensing a little bit.

 

“No, I think we’re okay.”

 

Bucky relaxed slightly.

 

“Is it a System thing or a dog thing?” Steve asked. Bucky hadn’t given Steve a word to describe his systems of hyper organization, so Steve just called them Systems. With a capital S.

 

“System thing,” Bucky confirmed.

 

“I’m sure Devil will fit into our routine really well.”

 

Bucky frowned. “I dunno, Steve.”

 

“Maybe you’ll have to adapt your Systems, then.”

 

Bucky groaned. “Probably.”

 

Devil made a _boof_ noise and laid down next to the bed. Steve turned over and tapped his nose against Bucky’s. “Wanna start the interval again?”

 

Bucky closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They ended up not changing their minds on keeping Devil. And Bucky had a field day reworking his Systems after they purchased some dog supplies.

 

* * *

 

 

“You know, you two could get Devil licensed as a service dog,” Andrew mused the next time he visited. “That would probably be good for you.”

 

Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance, and Bucky let a slow smirk pull at his mouth.

 

Steve looked to Andrew. “How would we go about that?”

 

Andrew smiled. “I know a guy.”

 

“Dun-dun,” Bucky whispered. Steve laughed.

 

* * *

 

 

“I still don’t know how we’re going to fit everyone,” Bucky said, pacing.

 

“There’s a mattress in the studio, and we have a few sleeping bags in the closet. Not to mention extra pillows.”

 

“Our house is _tiny_ , Stevie. This many people visiting may be impractical.”

 

“Then, we’ll relocate to T’Challa’s place.”

 

Bucky sighed. “You’re probably right. Sorry.”

 

Steve paused his painting for a moment to turn around and grab Bucky’s shoulder. “We’re gonna be okay.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, shaking out his arm. “Yeah, I know.”

 

“And Buck?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Happy Hanukkah.”

 

Bucky grinned. “Is that my present?” he asked, nodding to Steve’s painting.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Only one of them. There’s eight nights.”

 

Bucky’s eyes widened. “I get _eight_ presents?”

 

Steve kissed him. “We’ve got the means now, so I don’t see why not.”

 

“AKA, T’Challa has the means, and he is forcing us to share with him.”

 

Steve snorted. “Yeah, that too.”

 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s paintbrush from his hand and placed it carefully to the side. “There’s a mattress in the studio.”

 

“Yes, you’re standing on it,” Steve agreed, amused.

 

“And Devil is in the other room.”

 

Steve laughed. “You really have a one-track mind.”

 

“What can I say, Rogers? You’ve ruined me.”

 

“I’ll ruin your... face...”

 

Bucky laughed and pulled him in for a kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

The Secret Avengers arrived first because they were closer, so they got first pick of where to sleep, which Tony immediately complained about when the Avengers arrived.

 

“Merry Christmas, fellas.”

 

“Merry Christmas, traitors,” Tony returned cheerfully as they entered the already-crowded cottage.

 

Bucky looked a little bit claustrophobic, but he seemed to have a handle on it. And Steve had gotten so much better around noises, so it was pretty okay.

 

“Pete isn’t here because he’s celebrating with his freakishly attractive aunt. And Vision is helping some sort of Swedish research group for the week.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Of course. Well, Scott isn’t here because he’s with Cassie and her mom.”

 

“So, it’s everybody minus three,” Rhodey said.

 

“Yep!” Sam exclaimed. He looked good. He looked far more relaxed than Steve had ever seen him look since they’d met.

 

Natasha nudged her way inside. “I brought Liho.”

 

Bucky’s eyes lit up. “Devil, c’mere, we’ve got a friend for you to meet.”

 

Devil trotted over to Bucky, and Liho approached them. He reached a paw out and swatted at Devil’s nose, and Steve hoped it was a playful gesture. Devil made a _boof_ noise and head-butted Liho’s paw.

 

“That was easy,” Natasha noted.

 

“Put your presents under the tree,” Steve shouted over the general chaos.

 

“That is not a tree,” T’Challa laughed.

 

It really wasn’t a tree. It was kind of lame, but Bucky had found the giant flower outside while on a run with Devil and had insisted it would look great.

 

“Only you two would have a Christmas flower,” Sam said dryly.

 

“It was Bucky’s idea.”

 

“I agree with Bucky,” Wanda said.

 

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Is this a Jewish thing?”

 

“No. I think it’s _great_ ,” Clint said helpfully. “We should all have Christmas flowers.”

 

Steve glanced at the Christmas flower and cracked a smile. “We’ve come pretty far,” he whispered, mostly to himself. But of course, pretty much everybody in the cottage heard him.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said quietly. “I think we have.” He grabbed Steve’s hand.

 

“Ew. Gross,” Tony noted. “Also, Pepper is gonna be here later, just so you know, and she’s bringing all the presents I couldn’t carry with me, because I’m a great friend and buy the best presents for everybody, no contest—“

 

T’Challa scoffed. “Please, Stark. There’s no way your gifts are more thoughtful than mine.”

 

Tony made an enraged noise. “Oh, it is _on_ , cat-man.”

 

Steve sat down on the floor, dragging Bucky down with him, and let the argument wash over him. He let his head fall onto Bucky’s shoulder.

 

Maybe this wasn’t the life of the poets. Maybe Steve was just a footnote in the pages of history now. And maybe this was exactly what he’d always wanted.

 

Steve turned his head slightly towards the man that he’d walk through fire for—the man he’d die for, the man he’d kill for, the man he’d abandon Captain America for, the man he’d learn to live without a war for. “Hey, Bucky?”

 

Bucky turned towards him too. “Yeah?”

 

“I think the turkey’s burning.”

 

Bucky cursed and dragged Steve to his feet with him.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thecommodoresquid)


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